Dust the Scales
by batfan7
Summary: Crossover Harry Potter and DC comics. Harry, Ron and Hermione know they'll need help to defeat Voldemort, but none of them expected to find it in a pair of muggles from Gotham.
1. Polite Introductions

Title: **Dust the scales**

Rating: T

Pairings: None

Summary: Crossover Harry Potter and DC comics. Harry, Ron and Hermione know they'll need help to defeat Voldemort, but none of them expected to find it in a pair of muggles from Gotham.

**A/N:** This story takes place directly after 6th year for Harry Potter. It'll be my version of the Horcrux hunt, so ignore anything from book 7. The Batman characters are not from any particular time-line, so don't expect anything for the current continuity to be incorporated. I've tried to balance both fandoms so neither gets overshadowed by the other. Finally, a huge thank-you to Char and April for Beta-ing this chapter for me. I soooo appriciate it!

**Chapter 1 – Polite Introduction**

Harry Potter was brooding.

Or at least, that's what he was trying to do. Lying on his back in the smallest bedroom at number four Pivot Drive, he kept trying to focus on all the things that he had to be upset about – the Loss of Dumbledore, the defection of the Order Spy, Snape, the death of Sirius a year ago – there were plenty of choices of things to brood over, but every time he'd start to really get into the right frame of mind…

"Harry, how come the numbers are red when el-ek-tris-sity is white?"

He was starting to wonder if Ron and Hermione were doing it on purpose.

"Oh, honesty Ron! Electricity isn't white, it's clear, like water. If you put water in an orange cup and look down at it, it'll seem orange, but it isn't really."

He sighed and flung an arm over his eyes. Ron, with his mother's blessing, had decided to stay at the Dursley's with Harry for the two weeks at the beginning of summer that Harry would need to remain in their house. Harry had no idea how it had happened, but Molly had appeared with Ron that first day, ushered a glaring Petunia and red-faced Vernon into the kitchen and come out with a kind of grim satisfaction a half an hour later. He really, really wanted to know what exactly had happened in that half an hour, but ever since then the Dursleys had all pointedly avoided noticing the fact that Ron or Harry existed. Hermione has simply been flooing over every morning (much to Aunt Petunia's silent dismay), but her presence had also been ignored as much as possible.

"So there're are little jars of electricity in this box and –"

"No, Ron, it's like lightening. You don't keep that in jars. The clock just has power running through it which keeps track of the time and makes the numbers glow."

Having a friend stay over had been a new experience for Harry and he'd found it both better and worse than he'd imagined. It'd been great to be able to avoid his relatives. The Dursleys had made themselves scarce and Harry had really only caught glimpses of them as they'd rush out the door and then sneak back in at night. It had also been great to spend time with one of his best friends when there wasn't homework or an imminent crisis or a bunch of other people around. They'd played exploding snap until they'd needed to bring in a fan to air out all the smoke the combusting cards had made.

But Harry had also discovered that he didn't much care for having someone around who'd be in a position to ask uncomfortable questions like 'where is all your stuff?' or 'why doesn't your aunt ever make breakfast?'. Ron wasn't the most observant of people, but it still made for some awkward moments.

On the whole, however, this had been the best start to summer he'd had in a long time. So the fact that he hadn't had a chance to mope about certain issues was hardly worth complaining about.

On the other hand, Voldemort was still out there, growing in power, and the whole wizarding world was depending on _him_ to do something about it. If only Professor Dumbledore could have told him more about the horcruxes-

"Hey," Harry felt a finger poke him in the ribs and he hastily lowered his arms to see Ron looming over him, "Harry, weren't there some peaches in the pantry downstairs?"

Huffing, he rolled his eyes and gave up trying to get any serious thinking done. "Yeah, hold on, I'll show you."

Half an hour and four cans of peaches later, Harry gave a gusty sigh and abruptly announced, "I think we should start planning what we'll be doing next."

Both Ron and Hermione looked up at him. They were seated around the table, Hermione at the head, where Petunia usually sat, empty can of peaches and sticky fork in front of her. Ron, to her left, sat in Dudley's seat, two empty cans in front of him. At Harry's statement, he pulled the fork he'd been sucking on out of his mouth and dropped it, tines down, into one of the cans in front of him, making a loud clanging noise.

With a bright smile of approval at Harry, Hermione jumped up and rushed over to a bag she'd set on the counter when she'd arrived earlier. "That's wonderful, Harry! I've started a list already." She began digging around in what sounded like several reams of paper, "We have so much to do and I've been hoping you'd feel like doing some planning instead of rushing off like we normally seem to." She apparently got frustrated with trying to find whatever she was looking for and so turned the bag upside down and dumped its contents across the counter.

"Blimey, Hermione!" Ron stared at the mess, "I thought you kept everything organized!"

"Yes, usually," she started pawing through the parchment, quills, and books, "but I was in a hurry this morning and had to just dump it all – ah-ha!" She cried triumphantly, holding a bleached white piece of muggle notebook paper up. Harry could see a bulleted list in her neat handwriting that traveled down over half the page. She also selected a quill and a pulled a small stoppered inkwell from a side pocket of the bag which hadn't been opened before and came back to the table.

"Now, I'm thinking that the first thing we should do is talk to several Order Members and-"

"Wait!" Harry raised his hands, eyes wide, "Dumbledore didn't tell anyone else about the Horcruxes! He didn't want me to tell anyone but you two."

"Well, we're not going to be able to do this on our own," She pointed out.

"What!" Ron sounded offended, "We don't need anyone else!"

"Yes we do!" Hermione argued back, "We don't need to tell anyone exactly what we're doing but we'll need help finding these Horcruxes. Do you have any idea where to look?"

Ron folded his arms, "We'll research people related to the Hogwart's founders. That's what Professor Dumbledore said, right? That You-Know-Who probably stuffed his chopped of pieces of soul in artifacts the Hogwarts founders left," He wrinkled his nose at the idea. "They've got to have lots of descendants by now."

"Exactly! Lots of descendants! How am _I_ going to comb through half the wizarding world? You know it'll end up being me that does most of the research and you know I love doing it, but this is a massive project!" She brushed her hair back out of her face in an impatient gesture, "I'd be lucky to get through a small fraction of the people before the year is out!"

Ron and Harry exchanged somewhat abashed looks. Neither of them had really thought too much about all the research they'd been taking for granted Hermione would do. Harry just figured she'd come up with the right locations and then they'd all sneak in and grab the Horcruxes and then destroy them. But now that he actually considered it, he doubted it'd be that easy. If Dumbledore had only found two, the ring and the locket, after searching for fifteen years, what chance did they have?

Harry abruptly stood and began to pace, "We can't go to the Order. None of them would help us without asking too many questions and trying to 'protect' us by taking over. We'd be shoved us in some hidden location and left there." He gave his aunt's flowery kitchen a disgusted look. He wasn't letting anyone stuff him into a cage ever again. Not even a gilded one. "This is _my_ task. The prophecy said I was the only one who could kill that bastard and I'm not taking the chance that it'll get screwed up by letting the _adults_ take over." He scowled, "Besides, the fewer people who know that we know how to make Voldemort mortal again, the better."

Now it was Ron and Hermione's turn to exchange glances.

"I agree." Ron stated and Hermione reluctantly nodded.

"Fine. No one from the Order." She scratched a line through her first list item. "But we have to find _someone._ Someone we can trust, and if that's not an Order member, then who?"

Harry rubbed his forehead as they considered. Who did that leave? Their classmates? He couldn't imagine that Neville or Dean could find a Horcrux that neither Hermione nor Dumbledore could. And he refused to conscript every able-bodied witch and wizard they could find to hunt through data for them. As he'd mentioned, the more people they told the better the chance Voldemort would get wind of what they were doing and that was not something they wanted to alert him to until it was too late.

"What about one of my brothers?"

Pausing in his pacing, he considered each of Ron's brothers, discarding each in turn. Bill was holding down a job, still recovering from being bit by a werewolf, and getting ready for marriage. He was in no position to help them. Charlie was off in Romania and while he'd probably come back to help if asked, Harry couldn't see that he'd be any better than the three of them at figuring out where the Horcruxes were. Percy? As if he _would_ help. The twins? Harry actually paused, thinking it over. They were certainly creative and if anyone could come up with new ideas of how to find Voldemort's Horcruxes, it'd be them. They were discreet too. Harry glanced over at Hermione and thought of a room full of dusty old tomes. He just couldn't picture Fred or George sitting down and methodically going through books, taking careful notes. They'd be more likely to get a page in get distracted and dunk a book in some experimental potion, destroying it and the rest of the library in the process.

He shook his head. They'd go talk to the twins if they needed help getting past the Horcrux's defenses, not while they were still looking for them.

"If Percy wasn't being so stubborn about Harry, he might be helpful." Hermione slowly said, "But right now he's more likely to go tell the Minister about everything we're doing." She gave Ron and apologetic look, "I like your family, Ron, but I don't think any of the others would be able to help at this point."

Ron let out a breath in disappointment, but he didn't seem too surprised, "Yeah, they aren't really 'research' type of people."

"Well, maybe we don't need someone who can delve into dusty old tomes; maybe someone who's good at politics would be what we need."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked

"I was just thinking of someone like Percy. If we could really trust him, he's perfectly positioned to find out all sorts of stuff – the kind of things that are happening right now, rather than things we'd find in books that are centuries old."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. Hermione claiming that there were things to be learned outside of a library?

She made a face at his expression, "Oh, come on. I know there's more to life than books. It's not like Voldemort wrote out his life story with footnotes on where he stashed pieces of his soul. We'll have to talk to people and I'm just saying that it'd be helpful if we had someone who was good at that sort of thing. A diplomatic people-person."

Ron tipped his chair back to balance on the back two legs, "Well, I think-"

He was cut off by the slamming of a car door and Petunia's shrill voice calling to Vernon. Harry grimaced. He'd been hoping his relatives would stay away until nightfall, as they'd been doing the last several days, but it looked like they were planning on having lunch at home.

He reached over the table and snatched all three forks and tossed them in the sink. He'd clean them later, with the dinner dishes. Snagging a bunch of bananas off the counter, he thrust them at Ron, "Grab your stuff, Hermione. We'll talk about this some more in my room."

Without questioning him, she waved her wand and the mess on the counter returned to her bag. She hefted it and left the room with Ron on her heels. Harry tossed the used peach cans in the trash and grabbed a bag of sunflower seeds from a cupboard before following. His aunt and uncle had not been stingy with food so far, but it never hurt to be prepared.

He made it to the stairway before the front door opened and Petunia walked in carrying a plastic grocery bag. She spotted him and narrowed her eyes, lips pinching together, but otherwise made no comment and he escaped up to his room without incident.

He found Ron and Hermione sitting side by side on the bed Ron with his shoes kicked off and one knee bent so that he could prop his elbow up on it and rest his chin on his hand. Hermione sat with ankles crossed frowning down at her list.

The only other seat in the room, the rickety wooden desk chair, was currently piled with the folded blankets and pillows Ron used at night. Although they probably should have shrunk them to get them out of the way, Ron seemed to have forgotten he could do such a thing and Harry disliked having it shoved in his face that he was still under-age and technically shouldn't be doing any magic yet, so pretended that he preferred the bedding stored the muggle way. With the choice of either crowding onto the bed with the others, moving the extra bedding, or standing, Harry choose to stay on his feet. Besides, it was easier to pace that way, even if it was only three strides from one side of the room to the other.

"I think," Ron started as if he'd never been interrupted in the kitchen earlier, "that we should use magic to find someone who'll help."

Hermione grimaced, "What, like divination?"

"It's not all rubbish, you know." Ron admonished with a touch of superiority, "Even Trewalny made some real predictions."

"Twice in twenty years does not make her exactly reliable!" Her voice was laced with scorn, "We'd need something more accurate and something we could use on demand."

"Well, just because Divination wasn't your best subject doesn't mean it's not worth considering!"

"Fine." she snapped, "You think of some way to get your tea leaves to tell you who we can trust and I'll try finding a real solution."

"Stop!" Harry interrupted their budding argument, "We don't need to quarrel over this." He turned pleading eyes to Hermione, "Maybe not divination, but there might be some other type of magic we can use."

Her brow creasing in thought, she brought a hand up to rub the back of her neck, as if to massage away stress, "Something to find a specific type of person…" Her eyes drifted around the room and stopped on Hedwig, napping atop her perch. Her face lit up and she jumped off the bed in her excitement, "That's it! Hedwig can find someone!"

"What?" Harry looked over at his snowy owl, "But we don't know who to have her look for."

Hermione beamed, "That's the beauty of it! Owls need specific direction, something that'll make sure they know which single individual out of the entire world's population to deliver a letter to, but that doesn't have to be a name."

At Harry's unchanging blank expression, she elaborated, "For example, if you tell an owl to find deliver a message to 'the tallest person in London', they could do it as long as two people weren't exactly the same height. It's not usually all that useful since most people don't have a distinguishing feature that'd let an owl identify them. Names and locations are so much more specific. But if we word it right, I think we could get Hedwig to deliver a letter to someone who could help us!"

Ron was staring at her with wide eyes, "That's brilliant, Hermione! We could ask Hedwig to find the person who would know where to look for Voldemort's Horcruxes!"

"Wait!" Harry cautioned his two enthusiastic friends, "If we ask her to do that, what's to say she wouldn't fly straight to Voldemort? He's the one who'd know where to find his own Horcruxes best, after all."

Hermione blinked at him, "Well, we have to word it carefully, of course. Make sure it's someone who's on our side and who'd be willing to help us."

Still reluctant to agree with this idea, he pressed, "But what happens if we don't make it specific enough? Or so specific that no one fits the description? Will Hedwig simply start flying in circles?" He looked over at his pet to find she'd opened her eyes and was looking back at him. Her head tilted to one side and then swung back to tilt the other way.

"Of course not." Ron answered, "Owls are too smart for that. If there's no one to deliver a message to, they just fly back to their owner in a couple of hours."

Hermione nodded, "Yes, exactly. We'll try something and if she comes back in a few hours still carrying our letter, we'll just re-word the directions until we get it right."

Harry's eyes swung from Ron's excited face to Hermione's confident one and back. "So you think Hedwig will be able to figure out who we'd choose to have help us, if only we knew who to think of?"

Nodding again, Hermione added, "And who'd choose to help _us_ if he or she knew we needed help."

Harry pondered the idea, hands idly crinkling the forgotten sunflower seed package. Was there a down side to this idea? Even if they couldn't end up finding someone this way, would it hurt anything to try? They couldn't use Hedwig to send any other letters while she was occupied with this, but except for Ron sending his mum a note on the first day they'd arrived at the Dursley's, they hadn't needed her so far… And she really did love to be delivering messages. "Alright. Let's try it."

Hermione beamed at him, "Wonderful! Let me just get some parchment." With that, she grabbed her bag and dumped the contents out between herself and Ron who grimaced and scooted away a bit farther away to make room.

"You've really got to do something about that, Hermione." Ron told her, nudging aside a slim book that had slid into his thigh.

"Oh, hush up, Ron. It's not like I haven't seen the way you pack your trunk." She snagged a blank piece of parchment and with a flick of her wand the rest of the papers flew back into the waiting bag. "Now, let's see…" She ran the feathered edge of her quill over her lips in a gesture Harry recognized as her 'composing an essay' look.

After a moment of thought she began her first draft, muttering as she wrote, "Dear Sir or Madam, we cordially invite…no, that's too stiff." She scratched it out and started a new line, "To whom it may concern… no, that sounds like a resume cover letter…"

Ron looked over at Harry with a grin. "Too bad this won't give class credit." He tilted his head towards Harry's hands, "You planning on eating those or just crushing them?"

Harry looked down at the plastic bag of sunflower seeds clenched in his fists and relaxed his fingers, "They're for later." He set it down beside Hedwig's perch who looked at it and gave a mournful hoot. "You want one of those, girl?" He stroked her feathers and picked the package back up, ripping a small hole in the side and offering her a seed. She delicately took it from his fingers with one taloned foot and examined it before deftly cracking the shell with her beak and swallowing the tiny seed inside. She dropped the shell to the desk below her and looked back up with hopeful eyes.

"Oh, sure, feed the owl but not your starving best friend."

Harry grinned over at Ron as he offered another seed to his pet, "You're not starving. I saw how many pancakes you put away at breakfast."

Voice raised in an exaggerated whine, Ron called, "But that was _hours_ ago!"

Harry's grin widened, as he rolled his eyes, "Okay, here, have a sunflower seed."

He tossed him as single seed which Ron caught. He rolled his eyes, "How generous." He popped it in his mouth.

"Okay!" Hermione finished writing with a flourish and passed the paper to Ron, "What do you think of this?"

Ron simply skimmed over the short note and nodded, passing to Harry as he stood to look for a wastebasket for the sunflower seed husk. Finding nothing, he ended up depositing the seed shell with Hedwig's leftovers. The owl gave him a very disapproving look.

"You didn't mention Voldemort?" Harry asked.

Hermione pursed her lips at the page as Harry returned it to her. "I'm not sure if the recipient would get scared away if we mention who we're fighting."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing, though?" Ron interjected. "I mean, if the bloke is going to run screaming at the first sign of Death Eaters, he wouldn't be much help, now would he?"

"Yes, but we're not really thinking of someone who'll charge into battle, right? Just someone who'll help with research."

"Actually, I don't think we should limit ourselves like that," Harry replied in a thoughtful tone, "If Hedwig can really find anyone based on our description, then I'm thinking we should ask her to find whoever will be most helpful in both finding the Horcruxes _and_ in defeating Voldemort."

Hermione bit her lip, "I don't know, Harry, the more conditions we put on this, the less likely that Hedwig will find someone. What if there's someone that'd be brilliant at figuring out where the Horcruxes are and another who'd be this powerful wizard who'd take out Death Eaters right and left and she can't decide between the two? We'd end up with neither."

Ron piped up, "Just tell her to find the person who'll best help us with whatever we most need help with."

Harry and Hermione both stared at Ron.

"What? It covers everything, doesn't it?"

"It's a bit vague," Hermione began, considering the idea, "but something like that might work." She brought out her quill again and hummed for a moment. "What about this," as she paused then spoke in measured, careful syllables, "Take this letter to the person who will best help us in completing Harry's quest to defeat Voldemort and who will be both willing and able to be of assistance."

Ron scratches his ear, "Sounds a bit wordy, but it works for me." Harry simply shrugged.

Seeing their approval, Hermione jotted down the wording so she'd remember it when she had to address Hedwig once the letter was finished.

"But I don't think we should sign our names," Harry said, returning back to the topic of the letter's contents. "I don't want whoever it is to turn up just because he's being asked to by the 'Boy-who-lived' or whatever. I want someone who'll be interested in helping because Voldemort needs stopping whether it's me who's asking or someone no one's ever heard of."

"Yeah," Ron nodded, "Just put a little phoenix symbol at the end."

"Technically we're not part of the Order," Hermione muttered.

"Who'll know? Or care?" retorted Ron, "If we're not signing our names, the person might think it's just a prank. Sign it with a fancy, animated symbol and at least it'll look like we put some effort into it."

Hermione gave Ron a slow grin, "That's true. Good idea, Ron."

Harry was amused to note that Ron seemed to puff up at the praise.

Hermione sharply nodded, "Okay, Let me just re-write this letter on nicer parchment…" She pulled a tightly rolled bundled from her bag and quickly transferred the message in neat, legible script. She then rifled through the papers once more and found a slim book. As she flipped through the pages, Harry caught glimpses of dense print, but she didn't pause long enough for him to actually read any of it. Near the back of the book she stopped at a point where a folded piece of paper lay stuffed between the pages.

"What's that?" Ron asked, curious.

"It's my invitation to Hogwarts." And indeed, as she unfolded it, Harry saw it was identical to the numerous invitations he'd received six years ago. Well, almost identical. It was addressed to 'Miss Hermione Granger, 603 Glassglow Ave'. He wondered why her invitation got a real address and his had only said 'Cupboard Under the Stairs', but dismissed the thought as soon as it came. He wasn't there any more, and he didn't want to think about it.

"I'm going to copy the little phoenix here in the corner." She pointed to a small stylized bird in flaming orange near the Headmaster's signature.

"Did my invitation have that on it?" Ron wondered.

"I'm sure it did." With a flourish, Hermione brushed her wand over the invitation and then over their letter. Slowly it began to appear and fill in with vibrant color.

"Why do you have your invitation with you anyway?" Ron asked idly.

Hermione brought the letter close to her face to examine the still growing figure, "Oh, I always keep it in my dorm during the school year, up on the wall behind my bed. I just stuck it in that book to keep it from getting bent when we left and I haven't had a chance to put it up at home yet."

Satisfied that the charm had finished, she tapped her wand to the paper edge to dry the ink. When it was ready, she stood and secured it with a bit of ribbon before handing it to Hedwig. "Please take this letter to the person who will best help us in completing Harry's quest to defeat Voldemort and who will be both willing and able to be of assistance," She recited without looking at her notes. Hedwig bobbed her head and lifted up off her perch, gliding out the open window and out of sight.

Harry sighed and Hermione patted his arm, "Don't worry, Harry, it'll work."

"Sure." His gazed stayed fixed on where his owl has vanished, and in a quieter voice repeated, "I'm sure it will."

-0-0-0-0-0-

Tim bounced into the dining room, stomach growling. He'd been slaughtering armies of orcs on the latest Dragon Fighter video game, sweeping past Dick's high score, when the mouth-watering smells of Alfred's cooking had started to drift in. He'd held out as long as possible, wiping out another cavern full of digital monsters, before being forced to pause the game and head toward the kitchen in the hope of snagging a taste of whatever was cooking. Alfred, guardian of the kitchen and ever vigilant however, had caught him before he'd taken three steps inside and quickly ushered him out again with an admonishment about patience making the final product even better.

Personally, Tim thought a small nibble on the cream cakes wouldn't dent his appetite, but obediently left to wait in the second-formal dinning room, the one the family always used. Having _three_ official dining rooms, each decorated with a different era of furnishings, was ridiculously excessive, in Tim's opinion, but at least the one they usually ate in held the sturdiest table. The thick oaken table built in a neo-classical design could hold at least three wrestling teenage boys at once without so much as creaking in protest, as he could well attest to. Across the manor, the Victorian dining room had lovely views of the gardens, but Tim was always terrified that the spindly, delicate little chairs would shatter if he so much as slouched in them too hard. Not that the furniture's owner couldn't afford to replace a broken chair or two, it was just the principle of the thing. A person should be able to eat a meal without putting all their attention on how carefully they sat down.

Knowing how efficient the elderly butler was, he half expected to see the table already set; however, Tim paused at the threshold of the room when he realized there were more than just the usual two place settings. Despite the fact that Alfred was practically family and the only one Bruce Wayne, Tim's guardian and mentor, could be consistently counted on to actually listen to, the elderly gentleman never sat down to eat dinner with them. He would join them for breakfast on the rare occasion that any of 'his boys' were awake and wanted to eat something more substantial than a muffin in the morning, but never for the evening meal. Tim thought it was some sort of strange British butler rule, but hadn't ever found a time to ask about it.

So the extra place setting was certainly not for the third member of the current Wayne household. Which left a visitor or a _guest_.

Tim did not particularly care for _guests_. They always wore cloying perfume and batted their eyelashes and giggled. He particularly hated the giggling.

If it was a _guest_ then Bruce would be leaving after dinner to go to some charity function or society gala and Batman would start his evening patrol of the city from there instead of from the cave downstairs, which meant Robin would either be meeting him somewhere (which further meant a test on his ability to _find_ the Dark Knight) or he'd be told he had to stay home for the evening as Batman didn't have time to wait for him.

Tim scowled at the dinner table. He really didn't like it when _guests _were invited over for dinner.

Much less enthusiastic now, Tim walked slowly over to the table to examine the china, dragging scuffed trainers over the polished floor as he went. He finally reached the table and looked at the china set out. And broke into a broad grin.

It was the blue and gold pattern. The one Bruce's mother picked out for her wedding. A thin ring of 14k gold rimmed the plates with pale blue doves and roses in the center of white bone china. These plates were never used for any of the _guests_ – they only made their appearance when someone who was part of the 'family' came over -Barbara Gordon, Cassandra Cain, or Dick Grayson. Since no chair had been removed from the table to accommodate a wheelchair, and since Cass rarely just popped over for a visit without Barbara, Dick was the most likely third plate.

With genuine excitement, Tim rushed over to his seat and plopped himself down, as if his rushing would make his 'brother' appear more quickly.

Instead he found himself rhythmically tapping his foot against a leg of the long table and watching the door.

Although not related in any way, Dick was probably the best older brother imaginable, as far as Tim was concerned. The original second half of the Batman and Robin team, world class acrobat, skilled detective, and Bruce's first ward, the older boy could have been aloof or resentful of the younger teen who'd somehow managed to follow in his footsteps, but Dick had been genuinely kind and helpful and friendly. They didn't get to see each other terribly often since Dick lived in a separate city and they both had very busy lives, but Tim always looked forward the visits.

He had no idea how long Dick was planning on being in town, but he hoped it would be long enough for Robin and Nightwing, Dick's nighttime persona, to tackle a few muggers together that night. Nightwing was a lot more fun than Batman, willing to play tag over the elevated trains and cracking the occasional joke at the expense of a two-bit thief. Batman was all business once he was out, but Nightwing had always been more lighthearted. He'd somehow escaped the grim disillusionment that coming face to face with the dredges of society could, and often did, bring to the superheroes.

The door opening interrupted his musing. Looking up in anticipation, he was rewarded by seeing Dick Grayson strolling inside, leather jacket and motorcycle helmet dangling from two fingers and slim phone plastered to his ear.

Tim bounced up from his chair and waved in greeting rather than saying anything, in deference to the phone. Dick smiled and nodded in response, tossing his jacket over a spare chair and setting his helmet on the far end of the table. No doubt he'd get a scolding from Alfred about putting things where they didn't belong, but that was practically their 'welcome home' ritual.

Since he couldn't ask Dick the hundred and one questions he had, Tim fell back to shameless eavesdropping while he waited. It took several minutes, but in the end he figured out that Dick was listening to Lian, the bright little six year old daughter of one of Dick's best friends, chatter on about her life. As with most exuberant children of that age, she was going almost non-stop, bouncing from one topic to another, so Tim couldn't really follow most of it until she seemed to return to the point of the call. Apparently she really, really wanted 'Uncle Dick' to convince her dad to name a new kitten Princess Blueberry. Or, failing that, Rainbow. Dick was telling her, in a patient voice that sounded like he'd already gone over this before, that she needed to listen to her dad and that Dick really shouldn't get involved and that boy-kittens probably wouldn't like to be named Rainbow or Princess-anything.

Dick was in the middle of giving off a list of suggestions (which included such classics as 'Tigger', 'Socks', 'Shadow', and 'Dick is Seriously Cool' – Disc for short) when Bruce showed up.

Dressed in casual slacks and polo shirt, Bruce looked like he's spent the day lounging around the pool and practicing his golf swing, but, like the mask he wore at night to frighten the more superstitious criminals, the costume of languid playboy Bruce wore in the day was created to be misleading. Bruce never touched a golf club outside of scheduled appearances and Tim couldn't even imagine Bruce lounging anywhere, let alone beside a swimming pool. The man had most likely spent the afternoon, once he'd woken up, exercising (if the brutal work-out could be called something so banal), researching, and checking the condition of his numerous gadgets and tools. In fact, Tim was somewhat surprised to see Bruce outside of the cave before Alfred dragged him up into daylight.

Dick and Bruce nodded to each other while Dick continued to list possible kitty names.

"Hi!" Tim bounded up from the table and over to Bruce, ready to re-direct his good mood at someone who could talk back. Bruce was carrying a sheaf of papers and Tim cheerfully peered over Bruce's arm at them. They all had the Wayne Enterprises letterhead and most had columns of numbers. Financial reports for the various departments, if Tim had to guess. "Checking to make sure you're still a billionaire?" Tim grinned cheekily.

Bruce shot him a mild glare. At least, mild for him. "Someone is embezzling from the company."

"Someone other than you?"

The glare became considerably more forceful. "You cannot steal from yourself. All resources and products, both intellectual and material, ultimately belong to me as the sole owner of the company."

Tim raised his hands in a placating manner, "I'm just kidding! I know how it works. No need to bite my head off." He grinned and asked eagerly, "So what have you discovered? Need any help?"

Setting the pile on the table and dividing it up into different portions, he pointed to one stack and told him, "Computer analysis is not showing any major flags on any single department, so I've narrowed down the problem to within the IT or Accounting departments. That's the audit of the Bookkeeping division." Without further explanation, took his seat and began scanning through column of figures.

Shrugging, Tim slid a stack of paper down the table to his own seat and started sifting through the data.

It would have been less cumbersome to just scroll through the numbers on a computer, but it was easier to add notations or pull out particular spreadsheets when everything has been printed out, so the fact that Bruce was going through stacks of loose paper didn't surprise him, but the fact that he was willing to bring the work up from the cave to the manor proper, was almost shocking. Even if everything was completely legitimate Wayne Corporation work, it just wasn't like Bruce to be willing to display so much intelligent concern in even a remotely pubic place.

Bruce was never one for showing much affection. Certainly, Tim had never heard the man say 'I love you' to anyone. Ever. But just the fact that Bruce voluntarily came up from his work downstairs to greet Dick at the table was probably the strongest declaration of his feelings for his eldest he could make.

The room was not exactly oozing with sentimentality, but Tim suspected Dick would pick up on the gesture anyway.

A flash of white movement caught his eye from the doorway. Turning to look, Tim spotted a large bird gliding in, low and slow. Even before he'd finished registering what it was, Tim had snatched up a fork and his dinner plate, ready to defend himself from a sharp beak and even sharper talons. He'd been attacked by too many trained birds to think one flying into the manor was cute or coincidental. Both the men beside him had also grabbed a few utensils and stood at ready, Dick making a hasty good-bye and flipping shut his phone first.

The bird, an owl, Tim noted, made no move to attack, but with a few powerful beats of its wings flew upwards and settled on the chandelier above them. Head cocked to one side, the animal regarded the three of them for a moment before lifting a foot and dropping something. Tim tensed, ready to dive beneath the table if the bird had just released some sort of explosive, but ended up staying put as the object proved to be a piece of paper, bound like a scroll, and tied with a simple ribbon. It bounced off the table and rolled a few inches before coming to rest against the salt shaker.

"Penguin?" Dick asked tersely.

"He was still in Arkham as of last night." Tim replied and glanced at Bruce to see if there'd been any change in that status that he wasn't aware of.

Bruce simply grunted. In a smooth motion, he replaced his wine glass to the table and picked up his cloth napkin, shook it out and used it to carefully pick up the small parchment the animal had dropped. After a close examination of the paper and ribbon, he gently set it down and used a separate corner of the napkin to pull the knot loose.

Tim kept half his attention on the owl and half on what Bruce was doing. "At least the bird isn't attacking." He commented quietly to Dick, "I hate the claws on those things."

The owl swung its head around to look at him and hooted, managing to sound rather indignant.

"Yeah," Dick agreed, "What do you think Oswald would want with Bruce Wayne?"

Tim rolled his eyes and snorted, "Money. What else does anyone want with him?"

By this time Bruce had gotten the parchment unrolled and had scanned the contents. "Actually, this may not be from him."

Tim groaned, "There's another psycho bird guy running around?" Retaining his hold on both his fork and plate, Tim shifted over to peek at the parchment and Bruce, still holding it with the napkin, obligingly tilted it in order for him to see the small, neatly printed writing. For Dick's benefit, Tim read it aloud. "It says:

'To whoever receives this missive:

If you are willing to stand against the great evil that has arisen, please meet us inside of the Leaky Cauldron, near the muggle entrance, at noon on June 14th. Bring Hedwig (the owl) with you to identify yourself and we will talk. We would greatly appreciate any help you are able to give us.'"

Bruce added, "It's signed with a stylized bird and dated four days ago."

Dick, still keeping one eye on the bird, glanced over at them, "Well, that was less than specific."

Tim agreed, "Yeah, which 'great evil' is it talking about, where the hell is the Leaky Cauldron and what's a 'muggle entrance'?"

Bruce looked thoughtful and mused, "Perhaps it's a person's name."

Tim thought about that, "Like the 'Wayne Wing' at the hospital?" He shrugged, "Could be."

The owl gave a soft cooing hoot and took to the air, gliding down to perch on the back of the chair Dick had been sitting in. It cocked its head at him, made a contented sound and promptly shut its eyes for a nap.

Dick snorted and finally relaxed, "Well, I don't suppose we have a bird cage large enough for an owl around here somewhere, do we?"

Tim immediately piped up, "It's on your chair, so it's obviously your responsibility. You get to try to coax it into whatever you find."

"Gee, thanks. I appreciate your sacrificing my flesh to its talons."

"No problem!" Tim grinned cheekily back.


	2. Busy, Busy Our Lives Are

**Chapter 2**

Fully suited up for a night out on rooftops, except for the mask, Dick sauntered over to Batman who was busy at his computer. The large main screen showed the Gotham rouges at-large list and also listed relevant links to possible current targets for each. Clayface was out of Arkham and there had been no sightings, which wasn't a surprise since he was capable of assuming any form he wanted for a time. They usually had to wait for the egotistical shape-shifter to overreach his abilities and do some stupidly elaborate scheme before they found him.

Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn were also listed, but the Joker was still safely housed in the insane asylum. There was a good chance that if they found one of the two women, they'd find the other as Harley tended to cling to Ivy when her insane lover wasn't close by to boss her around. There were a few notes on Ivy too – a Kleenex company was holding a conference in the convention center this week and there was a good chance that the tree-hugging villainess would attack them for daring to destroy her precious plant-life in order to make tissues. No doubt the convention center and some of the surrounding hotels would make it on to that night's patrol route. Also there'd been some hints of a new drug finding its way into some make-up that might be tied to either her or possibly Jonathan Crane a.k.a. the Scarecrow. The police hadn't found any evidence of that particular rumor being true and Batman didn't have much more, so it was unfortunately still a waiting game on that one.

The smaller screens arranged around the larger one each showed a different variety of program open; the one on the far left displayed the progress a machine further in the cave was making on analyzing the composition of a soil sample. Another screen showed a photo of an artic owl, otherwise known as a snowy owl, along with a list of relevant statistics. Dick took in the information at a glance, but didn't bother to study it too closely. Bruce would already have done that, probably having memorized every fact about that species, and Dick figured Bruce would let the rest of them know if there was anything actually worth knowing.

Resting an arm on the back of Batman's high-backed leather chair, Dick propped his chin up on his hand and watched over the top of Bruce's head as he clicked through a group of search engines and custom filters. Apparently Batman was trying to determine where the 'Leaky Cauldron' was.

"Found anything?" Dick asked.

He could hear the scowl in Batman's voice as he replied, "There are no locations in Gotham that match the term 'Leaky Cauldron', either past or present. Nor have I found any such phrase mentioned in the police interrogation logs or from their phone taps."

In other words, it probably wasn't a slang term for a place recognized by the local gangs or someone would have mentioned it _sometime_. Dick hummed thoughtfully. "So this place probably isn't in Gotham."

"No." Batman graveled tersely. The man was never particularly pleased with the idea of leaving Gotham, even for a global threat, but he wouldn't just drop a plea for help, even if it did originate from somewhere else. He'd just be bad-tempered about the whole thing while he did it. "Expanding the search has revealed that there are several bars across the country with that name, along with a five-store retail chain in California. There is also a bookstore/café in Indianapolis. The owl's range of flight over four days does not narrow down our search as it could cover the distance from each of these locations."

Dick hummed again, finding that the mysterious origins of their owl-delivered note pricked his curiosity. It wasn't often that they got such a vague cry for help. Either the person sending it was like the Riddler and enjoyed sending people puzzles or he/she had thought that the names would be obvious to the recipient. Since the note was not addressed to a specific individual, that made him wonder who exactly the sender was expecting to respond. A playboy billionaire or the Dark Knight? Or someone else altogether? It was even possible that it had been sent to Nightwing or Robin instead.

"Are any of those retails chains in California near the Titian's tower?" Dick asked, referring to the base of operations for teenage group of superheroes that Robin often joined up with.

"Not such that the name would be a definitive location. Three of the closest stores are several hundred miles away and nearly equal distance from the tower." Batman abruptly changed his search from 'Leaky Cauldron' to a more general one for the term 'muggle'. No dictionary definition appeared, so Batman broadened the search to include any internet sites with the word. Seconds later a short list of hits came back and he scrolled through the options.

There was a chat site that called itself a 'muggle and squib support group'. A brief look at the recent text revealed several people complaining about housework to each other, the problems another group was having with their car engines and a third group seemed to be chatting about a recent Star Trek movie. In other words, nothing that obviously gave the definition of the word away.

The second site was a book review for a fantasy novel.

Another search engine, slower than the first, came back with a single hit from the Justice League logs and Batman immediately opened and started reading through it. Dick, still reading over his shoulder, scanned through the text and didn't immediately recognize the battle being described, but could tell from the precise syntax and British spelling and the report was probably written by Jason Blood. He focused in on the paragraph that had the relevant term, 'The bluish-grey colour of the Banshee suggests an origin of Wales, therefore a search for further information on the attack will begin there within the hour. The muggle attacked was removed from the scene by medical personnel. Treatment for a dog bite will be sufficient to…'

Dick stopped reading and glanced down at the cowled figure in the chair. "Looks like you'll have to talk to Blood."

Batman grunted in acknowledgement and switched back to the first search on 'Leaky Cauldron' and entered the United Kingdom as the target location. A single pub in London immediately popped up.

"Is London within the owl's flight range?" Dick asked.

"Just barely, if it flew almost non-stop."

Dick nodded thoughtfully, but still wondered why the bird had come all the way to them. Although Batman's existence was considered factual within Gotham, outside the city the rumors that he was just an urban myth persisted. Why would someone in London (if, indeed the note really did come from there) send an owl all the way to Gotham to ask for help? There were closer superheroes, ones more well known. It was like the writer had written a letter, dropped it into a bottle in the ocean and crossed his fingers that someone, anyone, would pick it up.

Which actually made Dick frown because in that analogy the writer would be stranded and in need of rescuing. Could that be what happened? A person under duress got a message out the only way he could, coded so he could be found with a little research? Dick shook his head. There just wasn't enough information yet to know.

As he was still thinking about it, Robin finally emerged from the costume vault, ready to leave for the evening patrol so Dick straightened up, applied his mask and gave his kid brother a grin, "Fell asleep in the bathroom again?"

Tim scowled at him, "It was just that one time! And it was _after_ patrol at like five in the morning! After fighting the Joker all night in a swamp. A swamp! And we still don't know how he managed to get that swamp into the middle of the diamond district or why it disappeared." His voiced dropped to a grumble. "Stupid swamp with stupid mosquitoes and stupid slim monsters."

Batman locked up the computer, stood and with his cape swirling about his ankles, headed for the sleek black car crouched at the back of the cave. Tim trotted after him, still grumbling about the swamp incident.

Dick shook his head in amusement and grabbed his helmet to follow behind the car on his motorcycle.

01010101010

Groaning in relief, Tim let the nearly too hot water wash away the grime and loosen stiff muscles. The night had been quiet at first. Batman had assigned Cass and him to patrol around the convention center looking for evidence that Poison Ivy was around, but they hadn't seen so much as a suspicious fern. For the next few hours the largest threat had come from a drunken teenager with a switchblade and Batgirl had taken care of that before Robin had even been able to drop down off the rooftops.

They'd split up afterwards and Tim had been pleased to prevent a pair of rapes and one car-jacking before he and Nightwing had teamed up to patrol around the university. Oracle sent them to a double homicide at one of the Frat houses, but the police had already gotten there and after watching from the shadows as the forensics team collected blood and bullets, they both decided that it was being handled competently, so left them to it.

At about two in the morning the quiet night turned into an ugly mess as a small explosion at Arkham resulted in two fatalities (one guard, one medical intern) and an escaped Joker. The rest of the night had been spent with the entire bat clan trying to chase the psycho clown down, but after a trail of destruction and fourteen more bystanders dead, they'd lost him. They'd combed the area until nearly dawn, but the only thing they'd found was evidence that the Joker and Harley, who had apparently been the one to get him out of his cell, had either stolen a car or had one waiting for them and they had driven off somewhere. Oracle would continue to try to pick up the trail using surveillance cameras around the city and a satellite, but with the creeping advent of daylight, Batman had reluctantly withdrawn for the time being.

Tim yawned as he slowly left the steaming showers to find that Batman was already done cleaning up and now sat at the computer terminal. He either washed up in record time or Tim had briefly fallen asleep on his feet because the man was in the middle of a conversation with someone on speaker. It took Tim a minute to connect the voice with Jason Blood, a reserve member of the Justice League. Blood wasn't one of Bruce's favorite people to work with since he used magic and housed a fearsome demon within his own body, but the man was more straightforward than most magicians and willing to talk with Batman whenever he called.

"…that's very possible." Blood was saying, "The magical community in the States never refers to non-magic users as 'muggles' since it has some derogatory connotations, so I'd expect your pen pal is from the UK, even if he or she isn't there now."

Tim paused at hearing this, interested to learn that the note the owl sent was probably from someone who used magic. At least that would explain how the creature might have gotten into the manor.

"Fine." Batman growled, "Is there anything else you can tell me about the magicians over there?"

"Plenty, but I'm not sure what would really be useful. They tend to be an isolated group, as most people with 'different' abilities are, and I haven't had any real contact with anyone over there for several decades, so I'm afraid I won't be able to tell you much about the current atmosphere. In fact, it might be best if I just send you a book on British wizarding history and culture and let you go from there."

"I'll have someone pick it up tomorrow-"

Blood interrupted, "No need." A large square tome covered in what appeared to be snake skin popped into existence at Batman's elbow.

Batman gave it a malevolent glare.

Tim's lips quirked at this latest evidence of Bruce's ongoing disgust with all things magical.

With a grunt of thanks, Batman disconnected the channel and scowled down at the book resting innocently before him.

Since the conversation was over and a soft bed was calling his name, Tim turned and headed towards the stairs leading up to the manor.

"Robin." Batman called and Tim turned back, questioningly. "The Joker is still out so I'm not free to leave Gotham, but this matter needs someone to look into it. I'm sending you and Dick to London."

Tim nodded amiably having already come to that conclusion. With the Joker loose, nothing short of an imminent global crisis would pry Batman away from protecting his beloved city.

He hesitated a moment, torn between continuing on to bed and turning back to snag Blood's book and reading a few pages first. But sleep won out and after clarifying whether Bruce would be contacting Dick or if he'd need to call him in the morning (or rather in the afternoon, since technically it was already morning), he left the cave and all thoughts of crime-fighting behind.

10101010

Ron shuddered as he wiped the cobwebs from his hair. He absolutely detested spiders. And a whole troop of them had apparently decided that Grimauld Place was a perfect spot to take up residence.

"This is disgusting." He informed Harry as he brushed another web away. He'd be tempted to use an _Incendio_ spell if he hadn't been worried about burning the whole place down. "Why is this place looking so bad? Hasn't the Order been using it for the last year?"

Beside him, methodically wiping down the seat and back of a rickety chair with a damp rag, Harry replied, "I don't know. I thought Sirius left it to the Order, but maybe they didn't actually use it."

The last week at the Dursley's had passed without incident. It was the final summer Harry would need to stay and so probably the last time he would ever set foot in the house, but his departure went unmarked by the Dursley household. They didn't appear at breakfast the morning they left and, as far as Ron could tell, Harry hadn't even noticed their lack of farewell. It bothered him in a way he couldn't describe to see just how little Harry's family cared for the boy they'd raised for sixteen years. He couldn't even begin to imagine his own parents acting so callously.

After discussing what they'd do once Harry could leave the Dursley's, each of them felt that Grimauld Place was the safest place outside of Hogwarts and the Burrow. It was protected by everything short of the Feildus Charm, which had fallen with Dumbledore's death, but they planned on restoring that as soon as Hermione flooed over from her parent's house. She'd already informed them that her parents, on her encouragement, would be taking an extended vacation to the Continent over the next few months, and because of that, she'd be later than usual arriving that morning in order to see them off.

However, when they'd been talking about moving in, none of them had taken into account the fact that the decrepit manor had been left unattended for several months. Even the ancient house elf Kreature, who'd disappeared after Sirius' death, had abandoned the house, and it had fallen into even gloomier disrepair than before. This meant that Ron and Harry had been greeted by dust bunnies that had mutated into dust elephants (and a few Dust Dragons who'd scuttled under the furniture when they'd stepped into the drawing room), along with several breeds of creepy crawlies, caked grim, and one very irritated portrait.

Mrs. Black's painting had screamed and ranted for a good half an hour after they'd stumbled over the threshold and, surprisingly, it hadn't been anything about 'mudbloods' or 'half-breed filth', but all about the blatant disregard the new Head of the Black Estate had toward his holding and that they needed to engage a new house elf to clean her painting immediately.

Although they could ignore her ranting, they couldn't ignore the filth and so got busy with cleaning spells and good old-fashioned elbow grease. They hoped to make two bedrooms and the kitchen livable before Hermione showed up, but since it was nearly noon and they'd barely made a dent in the kitchen, it wasn't looking likely.

"Do you think it's being magically produced?" Harry mused.

"What?" Ron grunted, casting a banishing charm at a Dust Dragon and missing. The little monster scurried under a sideboard. A spurt of water chased it back out and on the second try he managed to get the nasty creature which disappeared with a muffled pop. The water on the floor, already turning an ugly shade of brown, was likewise banished.

"The filth here. It can't have gotten this dirty this fast on its own."

"I suppose." Ron turned his attention to the sideboard itself and the decorative dishes atop it. Fine china was too delicate to use magic directly on, so he conjured a rag and swiped it over a pitcher. It turned out that under the layer of grayish dust the china had light blue patterns with darker blue etchings displaying a pastoral scene. He wondered if this was something the Blacks had bought or if someone had given it to them. It didn't seem quite their style. "Sometimes houses get a bit of their own personality. There haven't been exactly good people living here before, so it's possible the house is a bit…" He searched for the right word, "…moody. I've heard that sometimes houses sulk when their owners leave and burst the pipes or something. Or maybe Kreature did something before he left." He shrugged, "If all we have to deal with is a bit of dirt, though, I'll be happy."

"Yeah, I guess it's a good thing we've already cleaned out most of the nasty stuff." Harry agreed, referring to the month they'd spent going through odd corners of the house with Sirius and the rest of the Weasleys tossing out anything dangerous.

They continued working in silence, Harry moving from the kitchen chairs to the sink. Green slim oozing out of the drain gave off the kind of smell you might expect to find in a sewer and Ron had to wonder if he'd be able to choke down a meal prepared in this room.

Leaving the sideboard with a sparkling pitcher sitting on a polished wooden surface, Ron dared to open the pantry. What he found made is skin crawl. Spider webs coated nearly every surface, including the corpse of a pumpkin that had probably been sitting there since last October. The smell here almost rivaled that coming from the sink. Several unlabeled ceramic jars, rows of dusty glass bottles and a handful of potatoes that had taken root on the floor rounded out rest of the contents.

"Hi guys!" A chirpy voice pulled him from contemplating whether he dared try to figure out what was in any of the containers. Grateful for any interruption, he turned and greeted Hermione.

She was dressed in muggle clothes, a T-shirt over a pair of dark blue jeans, and hair tied back out of her face. She was grinning, so he didn't need to ask if everything at home had gone well.

"They're off and promised to send me local history books from everywhere they stop."

Harry, sleeves rolled up past his elbows and sopping rag in one hand, shared a grin with Ron. "Glad to hear it. I'm sure they'll have a fantastic time."

"Yep." She bounded farther in and swung her ever-present bag onto the seat of one of the chairs Harry had recently cleaned. "And guess what I found!"

Ron's eyebrows rose in inquiry.

She pulled a book large enough to need both hands to hold from her bag. "It's the births and marriage records for the area around Hogsmeade during the time Hogwarts was being built." She beamed in pride. "We can start looking for descendants of the founders this way."

Ron gave the enormous volume a horrified look. "We'll have to read through that entire thing?"

"Oh, of course not." Hermione dismissed his concern. "Ravenclaw is the oldest of the four and her birth is recorded…" She opened it up to a page bookmarked within the first quarter of the book, "right here. She pointed at an entry and both Ron and Harry moved to her side to take a look.

Each page, in spidery script was covered in precise records, only one or two lines for each name. The line Hermione pointed at read:

_Borne In the Year of our Lord 845, Rowena Ravenclaw, to Lady Pricilla and Sir Edwardian Ravenclaw._

"Year 845?" Ron asked in disbelief. "That's over a thousand years ago!"

"Yes, well, Hogwarts was built at around 1000."

He looked back at the book in dismay. "And we have to look through that to find all the rest of the Founders and their descendants?"

"No. Only Ravenclaw, Slytherin and Gryffindor are in here." She flipped several pages to a second bookmark. "Here's Gryffindor." Ron didn't bother to read it. "Hufflepuff was born in Wales. We might be able to find her children in here, since obviously she moved here at some point, but we can't be sure she didn't have some children before she came here."

Ron looked again at the enormous volume, the tiny lettering, and glanced over to Harry to see him looking equally dismayed.

Catching the boy's expressions, Hermione exclaimed, "_Now_ do you see why I think we'll need help?"

Glumly Harry nodded.

Looking quiet satisfied at Harry and Ron's new appreciation of the sheer scope of the task ahead, she admonished, "Don't worry, this is only one avenue of investigation. And I'm sure whoever Hedwig is bringing back will be able to help us."


	3. Two Worlds Meet

**Chapter 3**

Tim, fine-tipped Sharpie pen in his left hand, artistically decorated his right hand with a Blood Hawke gang 'tattoo'. It was a simple circle around his first knuckle with three tear-drop shaped splotches down the back of the index finger and an infinity symbol on the thumb, but he was right-handed and trying to make a perfect circle with his non-dominant hand needed some concentration.

After discussing it on the flight over, Dick and Tim had decided that since the note Hedwig carried hadn't been specifically addressed to anyone, whoever they were meeting probably wouldn't be expecting a particular person. Since they didn't want to show up as either Dick Greyson and Timothy Drake or as Nightwing and Robin, they'd picked out another pair of aliases. The Malone brothers.

As Derek Malone, Dick had a criminal record, including a stint in Black Gate, the high security prison in Gotham and as long a rap sheet as Oracle, hacker extraordinaire, thought they could get away with. Tommy Malone, Derek's little brother, also had a long list of offenses and had spent more time in Juvenile Detention than he'd spent free in the last year.

They weren't planning on infiltrating any gangs in London, but with backgrounds like that, they could probably get away with a much broader range of 'creative' abilities than a law abiding person would normally have without sacrificing the approachability that a non-costumed alias provided.

Also, if it turned out that they were wrong and the note-sender had been laying a trap down for Batman, they'd be able to hopefully bluff their way out by claiming they'd intercepted the owl and were hoping to make a buck by scamming the sender.

"Don't get too carried away. You'll have to spend time re-drawing those things every day we're here or they'll fade away." Dick was also painting a temporary tattoo on, but he was doing it under his ear and down his neck. It was a green serpent wrapped around a brown stake and he applied it with deft strokes while looking in a mirror mounted over the small dresser.

Tim waved away Dick's warning. He needed the practice and it wasn't like he was doing anything too complicated. He also wouldn't be putting anything on his face.

Not wanting to mess with airport security while having the rap sheets their IDs brought, they'd taken Wayne's corporate jet across and booked their stay at a posh resort hotel relatively close to their destination. While they stayed here, Tim would be the one interacting with any staff as they didn't need anyone wondering why Dick Greyson suddenly nabbed himself a new tattoo and reporting it to the tabloids. Fortunately Bruce Wayne's ward was rarely interesting enough to warrant paparazzi, but there was no need to invite trouble.

"Did you get to the section on common non-human beings?"

Tim frowned, but didn't look up from his hands, "No, you were hogging that book the entire flight over. I barely got past the different currency."

"Well you can have it tonight while I go check out the meeting site."

Now Tim did look up, scowling, "You're not going to shove me in the background here and go all brooding and 'this is MY mission' or something, are you? Because if you are I'm going to fill your shoes up with gravy and replace your cologne with skunk scent until you figure out you aren't Bruce."

Dick twisted away from the mirror to shoot Tim a laughing glance, "Gravy and skunk smell? Is this what you do when Bruce tells you that you can't patrol because you didn't finish your homework?"

With a grimace Tim capped his pen and blew on his skin to make sure it had dried properly and wouldn't smear. He'd already finished a band of thorns around his left bicep and the initials 'TM' on his left wrist, so he was good to go. Except for a few clipped rings on his ears, his clothes, and a bit of theater make-up to slightly alter his jaw line and nose, he was ready to become Tommy Malone, juvenile delinquent and occasional member of the seedy Gotham criminal underworld.

"Of course I haven't done anything like that to Bruce. Could you imagine what he'd do to me if I tried that? I'd be stuck doing practice with batarangs until my arms fell off and he'd probably ground me from patrolling until I was eighteen." He shot Dick a mischievous look, "But I did fill the Porsche's gas tank with sugar once after he ditched me with a pair of old ladies Scarecrow had doused with some sort of lust-inducing gas while he went after Crane."

Dick blinked. "Crane made what?"

Rolling his eyes, Tim stood and wandered over to one of his bags and started pulling out and putting on his communicator, slim utility belt, grapple gun and other assorted weapons and tools, all of which would be easily hidden beneath baggy clothing. "We're pretty sure Crane miscalculated something while cooking up his usual fear toxin. I really don't think he was looking to have a couple of ladies with walkers try to tear his clothes off." He smirked, "Actually, I think he was happy we showed up – he didn't even protest going back to Arkham after Batman caught up with him. And you're not changing the topic on me! I'm certainly not staying here while you go check out the Leaky Cauldron."

Dick shrugged and also started to gear up for the night, "I just didn't think we both needed to go."

"Why? Knowing your environment and escape routes is one of the most important parts of a stake-out! Who do you think will be watching your back while you make contact with these people?"

Dick's blue eyes laughed at him, "Don't trust my reconnaissance reports, hm?"

Tim huffed as he tugged on a baggy T-shirt with a rock band logo pasted on the front and checked that it wouldn't snag on any of his gear, "First hand evidence is always more accurate," He quoted Bruce. "I'm going."

Dick shrugged but didn't disagree.

1010101010

Two clicks sounded across Dick's earpiece signaling that Tim was in position. He responded with a short, "East Clear. No visual inside. No movement."

Although the city was as quiet as any city as densely populated as London could get, and they were in a commercial district which should be deserted at this time of the night (or rather this time of the morning), Dick still kept all senses alert as he shifted from shadow to shadow in the dim moonlight. The block around the Leaky Cauldron was secure. Both Tim and Dick had spent their first several hours of the night familiarizing themselves with the buildings in the area, the layout, the best aerial routes, the obstacles and places to hide or conduct an ambush. All the normal routine activities they'd do in a strange city preparing to face an unknown entity. Now they were ready to tackle the Leaky Cauldron itself.

Being a tavern, they expected it to stay open late, but were still relieved to see it close up at around 3 a.m., windows covered with wooden shutters and flickering candles blown out. Now the building lay dark and still.

While they were checking out the surroundings, Tim had pointed out that no power or telecommunication cables seemed to actually go to the building. Nor, as Dick discovered in a brief trip underground, did the sewer or water pipes seem to pass through the property. It seemed the building was completely isolated, a small island disconnected from the press of technology around it.

And this was cause for some concern.

They'd been around magic and alternate dimension and alien technology enough to know that anything isolated like that might be dangerous if poked. But not investigating the inside of the pub was simply not an option. They would have to enter it at some point if they were going to respond to the letter and doing so at a time of their own choosing after securing the area was preferable to waiting until meeting time and walking in blind.

So Tim finished his last circle across the rooftops of the pub's neighboring buildings and settled across the street to watch the front door while Dick crept through the shadows to examine the building up close.

"No silent window access at this level." Dick murmured into his com, after examining the windows and finding them solid panes of glass with no latches or other means of opening them. The com was silent with no acknowledgement, but Dick turned to the front door anyway.

Solid wood, curved at the top, and fastened to its frame with thick iron hinges, the door looked like it had been made for a medieval fortress, ready to hold back a barrage of arrows. Blackened with age, and shiny from countless hands, the door knob rested above a keyhole large enough that Dick could have stuck his pinky finger inside.

Pulling the largest lockpick from his sleeve, he set to work and within seconds the door was unlatched. Putting the lockpick away, Dick tested the door by gently pressing on it.

It didn't move.

He hadn't noticed the hinges squeaking earlier when patrons passed through the door, so he didn't think that they were the problem, but he carefully got out a small packet of grease and dribbled it over the hinges just in case.

A second gentle press gave the same result as the first.

"The door's probably swollen and will scrape against the frame when you open it."

Dick didn't even glance over to the shadow beside him. "Aren't you supposed to be across the street?"

"The com started to transmit static as soon as you got close to the building. You needed to know I couldn't receive if you required back-up."

Dick gave the door a stronger shove, conscious of the fact that with magic present, there could be any number of alarms or traps on the door that he'd never know he triggered until it was too late.

Beside him, Tim continued, "The com went silent as soon as I approached. Something from this building is interfering with them."

The door did indeed scrape against its frame as it swung inward, although the noise was not sharp enough to be noticeable over the ambient city sounds. At least Dick hoped it wasn't. The interior of the building was nearly dark, smoldering embers in a large fireplace giving off a dim glow.

"Step back from the building and see if the com comes back on," Dick quietly ordered Tim, his attention on the inside of the building, looking for signs that someone had heard him enter or that he'd tripped some sort of alarm.

The presence beside him vanished and Dick pressed the door open wider, slipping inside. He moved rapidly away from the door along the wall, ready to duck or roll away from any attack, but the room remained silent.

Several round tables stained and caked with grim were haphazardly crammed into the room. Next to the fireplace the bar counter sprung out of the wall and turned down the length of the room. It stood without stools or chairs up against its side, so either it was decorative or customers were expected to stand. Behind the counter rows of thick glass steins sat, some clean and polished, glinting in the dim light, some still with the remnants of their last order drying to their insides.

In other circumstances, Dick might have commented on the owner's apparent lack of hygiene and sanitation standards, but he didn't want to be in this building for long. And with the com not working, no one would hear him anyway.

As he'd scanned the room, a second shadow slipped through the open door and crouched just inside the room. Ignoring the teen, Dick made a quick circuit around the room, peering up the stairs near the back and in through the open door to the kitchen. A window towards the back of the room caught his attention. Instead of looking out onto the dirty streets of London, it showed a small courtyard, bricked on all sides, with moonlight casting the whole area in surreal light.

That wasn't supposed to be there.

They'd surveyed all around the building and there were no small courtyards anywhere. Was the view actually an illusion?

Beside the window stood another thick, ancient door which Dick had also not seen from the outside. It was locked and, like the front door, needed a key, so Dick got out his lockpick from earlier.

Unlike the first one, this door swung open without any effort on his part, but it also came with an unpleasant surprise. The moment the door moved a barrage of red lights shot down from the eves above and into the stone just inside the courtyard. Dick reflexively jumped back, but the shooting lights stopped. A calm female voice announced, "Stop. Aurors have been summoned. Please stay where you are. Stop."

Dick didn't stop or wait to see if the bodiless voice had anything else to say. He shot across the room and out the door onto the sidewalk outside. There he stopped, as no one had yet arrived, and swung the heavy door shut behind him. His lockpicks were out and the door re-locked and he was across the street before the voice had finished repeating its message.

"Light on in second story window." Tim's voice reported through the com in his ear. Apparently it was working fine now that they'd both cleared the building and whatever dampening field was around it.

Dick started to scale the department store across the street – the building Tim had originally intended to wait on top of. Tim continued to alert him to what he was seeing. "Single light, appears to be from a candle. Moved away from window. Reappearing downstairs. No visual yet on a person."

Dick reached the roof and moved next to Tim who had a pair of binoculars pressed up to his eyes and trained on the pub below. Dick looked down and saw the flickering glow of candlelight streaming out of the windows below. They weren't at the best angle to see inside the building, but they waited to see what would happen anyway. Dick got out his own set of binoculars and settled down to watch.

"Electronics don't seem to work inside that pub." Tim informed him after a moment where nothing much seemed to happen. "It's not just the coms. I set a tracer under one of the tables just inside the door and I couldn't ping it from either inside or out here. The infrared and ultraviolet settings on my lenses were also non-operational."

Dick rubbed a gloved hand over his chin. "We're going to have to get the meeting point changed if we want to have you listening in. Anything else?"

"Whatever is working on our electronics doesn't seem to effect mechanical devices. The binoculars worked fine, the batarangs snapped out perfectly, and my grapple gun seemed to be working without any problems."

Although he wasn't surprised that Tim had methodically tested the electronics-dampening-field, to the extent that he was able, Dick was impressed with how many things Tim had managed to try in the space of time they'd been in the building.

"Nice work kid."

Whatever response might have come was delayed by a sudden change in the lighting inside the Leaky Cauldron. Instead flickering firelight, several bright beams of steady white light were flashing around. It looked like several high powered flashlights were being waved around. Unfortunately, since whoever was doing the waving was staying well back from the front of the building, they still weren't able to see what exactly was happening.

Dick tapped Tim on the shoulder and let him know he'd go back down to street level to see if he could get a better view.

From the ground he had a much better angle to peer in the windows. There were three men, one wearing a thin nightshirt, nightcap, carrying a candle and looking like a Hollywood depiction of Scrooge. The other two were dressed in black robes and held themselves straight as if they were important and knew it. Each of the black robed men held a stick with brightly glowing ends aloft which Dick guessed were their wands.

In the end, nothing much ever did happen. The two men with the glowing wands seemed to cast a few spells at the back door that had triggered the alarm, bored expressions clear while the large man with the candle watched. A bit more talking and the candle-man escorted the others back out into the courtyard and out of Dick's sight. A moment later and candle-man was back without the others. He took out a key from his shirt pocket, locked up the door and went back upstairs, never having even glanced at the front door.

Interesting.

Dick took a moment to stretch then checked the time. It was nearing four in the morning. If they were going to be back at the Leaky Cauldron early for their noon meeting, they should be heading back to the hotel soon. He knew he could run on only five hours of sleep without it affecting his reflexes, but Tim was still a growing boy and Alfred would be most disapproving if he let him go too long without sleep.

But first they needed to test out that electronics-dampening thing a bit more.

"Let me know when the static disappears." Dick told Tim as he jogged across the street and into the shadow of the tavern. He paused right up against the wall and whispered, "Are you getting a signal?"

There was no response, so he figured he was within the dampening field. With even steps, he walked back the way he'd come. He'd barely stepped off the curb onto the street when a voice came through, "I'm receiving you now."

He stopped and looked back at the building. He was only about four feet out. "Recite the periodic table."

He received a sigh, but Tim apparently understood what he was doing because he dutifully started listing out the elements. Dick inched forwards and the voice cut off. No static or area of transition, it was either on or off. He leaned back and the transmission cut back in just as abruptly.

He paced across the front of the building, but the bubble where nothing could be heard remained at a consistent distance from the building. He entered the narrow alley between the tavern and the neighboring building, without receiving anything, and as a final test took out a grapple gun and zipped up to the Leaky Cauldron's roof. Unexpectedly, Tim's voice snapped back on as soon as he cleared the eves. He'd moved past the periodic table and was now reciting the passage of Shakespeare he'd had to memorize for Lit. class last year.

"The roof is clear of that field." Dick interrupted. "I think we ought to set this up as our meeting place tomorrow."

Tim paused his recitation, "You think you can get the person to come up on the roof?"

"He or she came to us. If it's that important, they'll find a way up here."

10101010

Harry was fingering the hood of his brown, nondescript cloak, tugging it further down over his forehead any time someone looked in his direction. "What if Hedwig didn't find anyone?" The nervousness in his voice wasn't lost on his friends.

"Harry, calm down!" Hermione's exasperated voice came from behind him, "Like Ron said before, if there's no one to receive a letter, owls just return to their senders. She'll be fine. The worst that'll happen is no one will show up and we'll just have wasted an hour or so waiting around the Leaky Cauldron."

Privately, Harry thought that he could come up with a dozen things that might be a whole lot worse and were just as probable.

Harry dodged a stout woman and her three trailing offspring, eyes fixed on the alley that held the portal to Muggle London. A steady stream of witches and wizards, mostly in muggle clothing, emerged from there, enough to make Harry wonder how the muggles could possibly miss seeing that many people disappearing through a tavern.

"Hold up, Harry!" Ron grabbed his elbow and Harry realized he'd unconsciously increased his pace to a near jog.

"Sorry," he slowed and shot the redhead a sheepish look, "I'm just…She's my…" He shook his head at his inability to explain himself, "I know I'm being silly. It's not like she's never been somewhere dangerous before, but usually with Remus or Sirius or whoever, even if they weren't in the best situation, I knew Hedwig would be treated well. Who knows how this person took our letter! What if he decided to fry the messenger or something?"

Ron, to Harry's relief, didn't roll his eyes, but just lightly punched him in the shoulder, "She'll be fine. She's too smart to get zapped by an irritated wizard."

"Or witch!" Hermione had evidently been listening, "We could be meeting a woman you know."

"Yeah, sure," Ron agreed amiably, "Or a witch."

Brushing past the two boys, Hermione took the lead with a determined step, "It's nearly eleven-thirty; we should be there early, so let's get going."

After a shared look, the boys hurried after her.

They entered the pub with little fuss and moved to a table near the front entrance without attracting attention of any of the patrons or of Tom, the establishment's burly owner. The dim lighting and heavy foot traffic made it impossible to watch everything at once, but Harry still craned his neck and swiveled his head in an effort to spot a snowy owl.

Selecting a seat near the door, Hermione wiped off the chair before sitting down, tugging Harry down beside her.

She then also scanned the people, but with less exaggerated movements than Harry. She started at one end of the pub and methodically examined each person as she came to them, weighing their potential, before moving on. No one seemed to be looking for anyone and Hedwig was nowhere to be seen.

She sat back with a sigh, "It's probably too early yet."

Harry visibly deflated.

"Why don't you keep watch out the window, make sure our mysterious helper isn't loitering outside thinking that was what we meant." Harry nodded and shuffled his chair around so he could peer outside easier. "I'll watch the Floo and you-"

Ron jumped to his feet, "I'll get the drinks so we don't stand out."

Huffing, Hermione reluctantly agreed. "Fine, but then you can keep an eye on the Diagon Alley entrance."

She glanced over at Harry's profile. His face was calm, eye intent, but his fingers were tapping rhythmically against his thigh. She knew he was keyed up, anxious for more than just his faithful owl. Harry was afraid to hope that they'd find someone who could really help. With the death of Dumbledore, Harry had seemed to feel that the weight of the world had fallen onto his shoulders and she knew he would be relieved to be able to share that burden with someone. Both she and Ron would do everything in their power to help him, but neither of them were the experienced commander Dumbledore was. She had no idea what form of help Hedwig might bring them, but she sincerely hoped it was someone with a great deal of experience in dueling and in politics like Dumbledore had been, in addition to being a good researcher. Someone Harry could glean from as a mentor. She knew Ron was hoping for someone like Moody, powerful, paranoid, clever, and dedicated to their cause, but without the automatic dismissal Moody gave the 'children'. He wanted someone who would be eager to blast down the gates of places like Malfoy Manor, someone who knew practically every curse in existence and who'd be willing to teach them.

She wasn't sure exactly what Harry was hoping for. He'd been closed mouthed over the last week, refusing to speculate with Ron when he'd brought it up and she suspected that he was trying not to let himself get too hopeful in case they turned out to be disappointed.

A young woman with raven hair and blue robes stumbled out of the floo and was caught by a gentleman from a nearby table before she fell on her face.

Hermione eyed the newcomer. As no one had followed her, the woman was evidentially traveling alone, but she wasn't carrying an owl, so likely wasn't their contact.

The woman regained her balance and smiled at her rescuer, lashes lowered flirtatiously and Hermione felt her nose wrinkle. She glanced at the guy who'd caught the woman and caught a glimpse of dark hair, leather Tommyet and ratty jeans. Not exactly a sight to inspire…well, anything. She rather hoped the girl knew him and wasn't just acting coy to someone she'd just met. The idea of trying to bat her lashes at some stranger was such a foreign concept to Hermione that she found it very difficult to understand why anyone would do ever do such a thing.

"Here you go." A foaming butterbeer was shoved under her nose and she grabbed it without thinking. then smiled up at her friend as he slid into the seat next to her, his drink already a quarter gone.

Harry nodded his thanks and accepted the third mug from Ron, but turned back to the window without tasting it.

"Watch the back door," she reminded Ron and he nodded before shifting to face that entrance.

Hermione turned back to the floo. Flirty-lady had disappeared, but Ratty-jeans still lounged at his table. Her gaze drifted passed him, returning to the floo as an overweight man lumbered out followed by an equally obese woman who looked like his aging mother. They headed straight for the back door to the courtyard that sheltered the entrance to Diagon Alley and so Hermione dismissed them.

But that had brought to mind a possibility they hadn't thought of before. For some reason they had assumed whoever might be meeting them would come alone, but what if he or she were married? They hadn't mentioned anything in their letter about keeping the meeting a secret. What if the person talked to people who talked to other people and word got around to some of the more unsavory factions? They hadn't signed the letter for fear that whoever it was coming might show up simply to meet The-Boy-Who-Lived, but now Hermione had a new reason to be grateful they'd chosen to be cautious. Even if this person had loose lips and brought a Death Eater cousin or something with him, he wouldn't know who he was waiting for and they could make sure their contact was safe before approaching him.

Harry turned from his window watching and brought out his wand, swishing it below the table. Glowing numbers wrote out the time as 11:56.

"Harry!" Hermione scolded.

He shrugged, "It's not like the Ministry can keep track of underage magic in this mess." He waved a hand to indicate the multitude around them.

"Yes, but you really shouldn't…"

"Oh, lay off him, Hermione. He'll be seventeen soon enough. It's not like a few weeks are going to make him suddenly more capable of casting or something. Besides, we're not going to wait until his birthday to start hunting, are we?"

She sighed, "No, I suppose-"

She was interrupted by a brass bird cage thumping down on the table between them. They hadn't even noticed anyone getting close.

From within the cage Hedwig hooted, ruffling her feathers and definitely having an air of being proud of herself.

Three sets of eyes rose from the owl in front of them to the face of the man who'd set her there. He was younger than any of them had expected, probably no more than his mid-twenties, with clear blue eyes and spiked black hair.

Along with several piercings, at least two tattoos (one of which was a snake!), a leather Tommyet, and ripped blue jeans.

Hermione felt her jaw drop and hastily snapped it shut before peering around their visitor to confirm her suspicion that, yes, this was Ratty-jeans from across the pub. Where had he been hiding the birdcage? Under the table?

Without looking she could feel the incredulity radiating from either side of her.

"I believe you know this bird?" His drawling, accented speech clearly identified him a foreigner.

If anything, her eyes must have gotten wider. An American? And how had he known they were the people who'd sent the letter?

Harry recovered first, "Yes…How did you know?

His lips quirked, "You weren't exactly being subtle about the fact that you guys were waiting for someone and you also obviously didn't know where they were going to come from so…" He shrugged then grinned, "Besides, Hedwig here couldn't take her eyes off you." He slid his hand through the cage bars and stroked her feathers.

The owl cooed and that snapped Hermione and Ron out of their stupor.

Straightening, Hermione waved to an empty chair, "Please sit. We have a lot to talk about."

The man didn't move, "I agree. However, I wouldn't suggest talking here. Somewhere more private would be better."

Hermione, Ron and Harry all exchanged glances. They didn't have any intention of going anywhere alone with this guy without knowing a little more about him.

He seemed to read their thoughts as his face broke into another grin, "Don't worry, I'm not thinking of going into a dark alley somewhere. Actually, I was thinking of the roof."

They collectively blinked at him. The roof?

He shrugged again, "It's relatively private, but surrounded by people within screaming distance." He spread his hands, "There's only one of me and it's not like I'll get the drop on all three of you." He cocked his head and waited for them to decide whether to follow his suggestion or not.

Another round of exchanged glances. After a moment of silent communication, Harry nodded.

"Great, I'll meet you there." With that, the stranger turned and walked out through the front door and into London.

"Um, guys?" Ron's uncertain voice returned their attention to the table, "Is _that,_" He motioned towards the door, "who Hedwig brought to help us?"

Hermione sighed as Harry looked at his bird. Hedwig looked back with steady, unblinking eyes. "Yeah, I think this is who she thinks we needed."

"Great." Ron's shoulders slumped. "We're doomed."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Ron," Hermione scolded, "We don't know anything about him yet. At least we should talk to him before we decide he's useless."

"But, Hermione! Did you see the way he was dressed? He looks like - like, someone from a muggle Knockturn Alley!" His voice dropped, "And did you see that snake tatoo? A _green_ snake? He's probably a spy!"

Hermione frowned, "Well, yes, he doesn't look exactly like what I was expecting, but maybe that's part of what he can do. Maybe he's Polyjuiced or wearing a glamour or something. Just because he looks like that doesn't mean that's all there is."

Harry, who'd been silently listening, nodded, "Hedwig likes him and he hasn't tried to kill me yet and that's more than I can say for a whole slew of teachers we've had. Let's get up on the roof and give him a chance."

"Good." Plan of action decided, Hermione stood and hefted the birdcage only to have it taken from her by Ron.

"I got it. We'll let her out outside and I'll shrink the cage."

"Oh, thanks."

Together they rose and marched outside to be greeted by the smell of exhaust and the refuse from a nearby dumpster.

"Ugh. I always forget how awful the air is around here." Hermione waved a hand in front of her nose as if that would waft the smell away.

Ron opened the cage door and Hedwig took flight, rising above the buildings to disappear above the Leaky Cauldron. "So, you didn't happen to bring your Firebolt along, did you Harry?"

Harry shook his head and Ron sighed, "Well, how are we getting on the roof then?"

They each looked at the front of the building. It was a double story building with crumbling brickwork and sagging eaves, but no obvious roof access.

"Well, there has to be some way up out here since he didn't come back into the pub." Hermione put her hands on her hips and looked up and down the street.

"How about we each just Levitate each other?"

"Think Ron! We're in _muggle_ London right now." She looked pointedly at the passing taxis and pedestrians, "No magic."

Harry started down the sidewalk, "Just because we can't do magic right here doesn't mean that's not a good idea. We'll just go down beside the building here…" He trailed off as he disappeared into the shadows around the edge of the pub.

The other two followed and found themselves in a very narrow space wedged between the Leaky Cauldron and the little department store next door. It was just wide enough for Hermione and Ron to stand shoulder to shoulder as long as neither of them needed to move their elbows out. Loose garbage piled up against a brick wall at the end of the alley and Hermione wondered whether someone bashing through that wall would end up in Diagon Alley or simply another alley in London.

"Hey, Hermione, lift me up!" Harry called from several paces further down.

"No!" Ron jogged up to his best mate, "Lift me up first. That way if this is a trap or something you can get away."

"What? No! I'm not going to let you do something like that. It was my decision to trust this guy, so I'll go first."

"Oh, for pity's sake," Hermione grumbled, "It's not that big a deal. I'm sure nothing's going to happen." Even still, after glancing behind her to make sure no one was paying attention to their little party, she pointed her wand at Ron rather than Harry.

She lifted both of them with a minimum of fuss and was in turn lifted by Harry's magic and settled beside the boys. She had no real love of heights, so was very glad his charm held steady and the brief ride was smooth. Looking past them, she could easily see the stranger waiting for them several meters away.

The roof wasn't flat, but the slope was gentle and the cedar shingles dry, so no one had any trouble crossing over to where their American was seated on the peak, eyes closed and face upturned into the sun.

Reaching the man, Harry once again took the lead, "So who are you and what do you think you can do to help us?"

"The name's Derek Malone," The man easily answered, "You can call me Derek. And I can't tell you what I might be able to do for you until I know a little more about the situation." Derek tilted his face and cracked one eye open, "Things like why a couple of teenagers are planning on facing down a 'great evil' in the first place."

Ron immediately bristled, "Hey, we're all of age!" He conveniently overlooked the fact that Harry wasn't technically seventeen for another few weeks.

"And just because we're not older doesn't mean we should sit back and do nothing," Harry added. "If we're old enough for someone to try to kill us, we're old enough to fight back!"

That caused the man to straighten up and frown intently at them, "Someone is trying to kill you?"

Harry looked at him as if he was a few bricks short, "Of course they're trying to kill me! Did you think that killing curse was just because Voldemort didn't want to change my nappy?"

"What?" Derek's expression flowed from intent to skeptical to confused and back again.

"Wait." Hermione had been watching the man closely and noticed something the other two hadn't seemed to pick up on Namely his lack of reaction to the Dark Lord's name. "Do you know who Voldemort is?"

Ron turned to her in disbelief, "Of course he-"

"No, should I?"

Now both boys stared at him, expressions a mix of horror and incredulity.

"Have you been under a rock for the past two decades?" Ron cried out.

Hermione, eyes narrowed, asked more quietly, "Are you a wizard?"

Malone cocked his head, watching them, then gave his head a short shake.

"You're a MUGGLE?"

Ron's horrified exclamation caused Hermione to turn on him, hands on hips, "And what's wrong with being a muggle?"

Ron immediately took a step back, hands raised, "Nothing! Absolutely nothing's wrong with that, but…" He gestured helplessly at the still seated man before them, "How can a muggle help us?"

With a quiet voice, Derek said, "Perhaps you can explain what's going on and then I might be able to tell you something. Starting with your names would be nice."

With a deep sigh, Harry plopped down to sit with crossed legs beside him, evidently deciding that the situation wasn't going to turn into a battle. "My name is Harry Potter…" And he launched off on a tale that began with the rise of the Tom Riddle as the Dark Lord Voldemort. He described the death of his parents and the man's first defeat, the various attempts by the Dark Lord to return to power, and his recent victory through the death of Dumbledore. Harry glossed over most of the details of the last six years, hitting only the highlights and only occasionally being reminded of something he'd missed by Hermione or Ron. Harry omitted any reference to Horcruxes, although he did mention the diary as one of Voldemort's methods to try to rise again. He also skimmed over the Ministry of Magic debacle, only mentioning that a battle had taken place and it alerted the public to Voldemort's return. Derek sat silent throughout the whole story, asking no questions until the very end. Despite his status as a muggle, the questions that he then asked didn't delve into the workings of magic – he didn't ask 'how' something had occurred, instead he focused on 'what' and 'when' and occasionally 'why'..

It took several hours to tell the story and make sure Derek felt comfortable with the overview and current situation. The sky was darkening with a gathering of rain clouds and Ron's stomach had begun to announce the onset of dinner time before he finally nodded, "Alright, I think that'll be good for now. I'll have more questions later, but this'll be a good starting point. From what I understand, your goal is ultimately a decisive defeat of Voldemort, preferably his capture and secure imprisonment?"

"Or his death," Ron muttered under his breath.

But apparently not quiet enough as Derek shot him a sharp look, "Let's get one thing straight right now; I won't be part of a group that's out to _kill_ another sentient being. If that's where you're headed then I won't be helping." He leaned closer, face hard, "And remember, if you use the enemy's tools, if you've _become_ that enemy, then he's won."

Ron gave him a wary look, "I'm not saying we should shoot Advada's at the Death Eaters or anything, but I don't think anything besides death will get him to stop. I mean, is he even human any more? He basically came back from the dead and from what Harry's said he's all cold and snake-like and missing pieces of his soul…"

At Harry and Hermione's twin glares he shut up, but Derek didn't pursue that particular piece of information and instead went back to the original topic, "It doesn't matter whether he's human now or not. He's still a living, thinking person and it's not up to you whether he should die or not." He shook his head and let his eyes drift, unfocused over the cityscape around them. "Even if they are monsters inside, the minute you cross that line and deliberately take a life, you've become that monster yourself." His voice dropped to a whisper, "Sometimes, that's the difference between a hero and a monster – the value of a life."

Harry shifted, uncomfortable once they'd moved from the practical to the more philosophical, "Well, that's - whatever. We'll just look for something else to stop him."

"Yes," Hermione agreed instantly, "there are lots of things that might stop him, like potions that make people sleep for hundreds of years, or turning him into a statue or sucking all his magic out…"

That made Ron grin, "Yeah! Maybe we could find a way to turn him into a squib and make him mop the floors of the ministry. That'd be perfect."

Hermione snorted. "Anyway, I'm sure we'll come up with something. We've still got lots to do before we need to worry about that." She gave Harry a meaningful look and he rolled his eyes. "Now, Malone-"

"Derek, please."

"Right, Derek, now that you know what's going on, why do you think Hedwig brought you to us?"

Derek stretched his arms overhead and yawned, "Honestly, it could be any number of things." He grinned at her, "The only thing I'm sure of is that it wasn't for my magical power."

Now it was Ron's turn to roll his eyes, abet more out of frustration than amusement, "You have to have some idea! Isn't there anything you're good at?"

Derek's grin broadened, "I make a mean macaroni and cheese dish. Straight from the box to your plate in under ten minutes." He tapped his chin as if in thought, "And I can change the oil on a motorcycle."

Ron groaned and flopped backwards, ignoring the dirt caking the shingles, and bringing an arm up to cover his face repeated his previous sentiment, "We're doomed."

Ignoring Ron's dramatics, Harry leaned forward, face serious, "We need to know what you can do for us. We need to know how you can help."

Derek sighed, face returning to a more sober expression, "I was actually serious. It could be any number of things. It might not specifically be me Hedwig was looking for. I have connections to a lot of people who might be able to help, so she might have been looking for that."

He shrugged and Harry scowled, "No, we don't want a bunch of people. There's already a bunch of people trying to contain the Death Eater attacks. That's not what the three of us are doing."

Derek cocked his head and gave Harry a shrewd look, "You actually haven't said specifically what you're doing. Just a vague 'defeat Voldemort'. Is there something, some actual task, you're trying to do?"

Ron sat up and looked to Harry, face wary, while Hermione bit her lip. Harry's fingers started drumming against his thigh. "We're…looking for something. Several somethings. But I can't tell you what yet."

Nodding, Derek said, "That's fine for the moment. And that clarifies things. I'm not a wizard, but I do know how to find things." His grin returned, "Finding stuff is something else I do well."

For the first time since laying eyes on Derek Malone, Hermione felt a surge of hope. Perhaps Hedwig had brought someone who would help with their original idea. Someone who could help them _find_ the Horcruxes could be extremely useful. The three of them would have to talk about exactly what they could tell Derek, but if he really could track down those bits of soul Riddle had stashed away, they had a chance of winning this war.

Harry must have been thinking the same thing because he glanced at his two best friends before saying, "That sounds promising. How about we meet again tomorrow and talk about a plan?"

Derek stood in one fluid motion and held out his hand, "Sure. Same time, same place?"

Harry nodded shaking the offered hand, but Hermione interjected, "Wait, we really shouldn't get predictable. If the Death Eaters figure out where Harry is…" she trailed off.

"Two times won't make a pattern. And next time we can discuss doing something different," Derek cheerfully told them. "Any way to contact you before then if something comes up?"

Hermione frowned, "We can send Hedwig to you if we need to change the time, but I don't think there'll be any way for you to get a hold of us. Where we're staying is protected and..." she gave him an apologetic look.

"That's fine. I'll just make sure I'm here then."

At that he turned and walked over to the edge of the roof where the teens had ascended. They watched in some curiosity, each wondering how he'd gotten up without magic in the first place. Upon reaching the edge, he bent over, grasped the overhanging shingles and swung himself down, releasing his grip an instant later.

"Did he just _jump_ down?" Ron exclaimed.

"No way," Harry muttered, rushing over to that corner of the roof top. "We must have missed a ledge or something."

Several seconds later all three of them were peering over the edge down at the sheer brick wall to the bare concrete below, Derek Malone no where in sight.

A/N: Okay, for those few of you reading, I thought I'd add a bit of 'behind the scenes' info that won't ever come out in the story, but might help flesh things out anyway. During the scene where Dick is scouting out the tavern, he trips a magic security alarm by opening the back door, the one that leads to the magic part of the world, but didn't trip any sort of alarm on the front door. Most of the people who grew up with magic, in my view, have a rather superior attitude towards muggles (purebred or not), so I figured that the tavern owner wouldn't even consider a muggle burglar.

Also, I should mention the naming thing that will be done throughout the majority of the rest of this story. Whenever the POV is from either Dick or Tim, they will always think of themselves with those names, but, at least for now, Harry and co. will always think and refer to them as Derek and Tommy. And I give full credit to Char for inspiring the Malone Brothers. She's written several wonderful stories with them (although she named them Robbie and Jack). Matches Malone is a cannon figure, so I don't feel I'm stealing anyone's original characters by snagging the Malone last name and making Dick and Tim's criminal back-story be consistent with Matches' character.


	4. Evaluate

A/N: I so profusely apologize for taking _six months_ to get this out. I said I wrote at a glacial pace, but I really didn't expect it to take a geologic age. Hopefully the chapter after this will come out much quicker, but I won't make any guarantees about speed. I'll still say that this will eventually be finished though! In the meantime, I feel I should remind those handful of you who put this on alert that Dick and Tim are using aliases and as such Harry and his friends will think of them with different names.

Dick = Derek Malone

Tim = Tommy Malone

And, a reminder that 'O' is Oracle a.k.a. Barbara Gordon. Hopefully everything else is self-explanatory (and if not, let me know and I'll clarify). This has not been Beta'd so all mistakes are mine!

P.S. I must thank "I'm only a reader" for the note on how to get around an error on this site that wouldn't let me post this chapter for a several weeks. In an effort to get around the problem, I posted this on a livejournal account (and if you'd like to read this there, my user name is the same as it is here: batfan7). If you got my private message about this story being available there, then this chapter is the same as what you found there. Thanks!

**Chapter 4**

"So, you got all that?" Dick's voice came through the commlink without a hint of static.

"Yep." Tim confirmed, "O is sending everything she can find on every piece of that story. So far we have confirmation on Harry's parent's unexpected death, although the official story is a gas explosion-"

"Just the fact that they used that as the reason makes their story more believable. Any time there's a supernatural problem the governments always blame the gas company."

"Yeah, like the time Superman 'accidently' put his fists through that LexCorp. generator out on Gloverdale. I don't get how anyone could have bought that – there wasn't even gas available in that area."

"You're talking about the same people who elected Luthor president."

"So the general public is stupid."

"Pretty much. But you were saying about what O got us?"

Tim appreciated the fact that the prevalence of modern cell phones allowed him to stroll down a busy street talking to no one and remain unnoticed. However, that didn't mean he was free to say just anything and now that he'd moved from the rooftops down to the street level, "Yeah, so that's verifiable. There are a handful of social services notes on Harry Potter's transfer to the custody of his maternal aunt and uncle, however O noted that his file appears to have fallen through the cracks. No follow-up visits from the social workers are recorded. He was apparently dropped off at his relative's place and that's the last we see of anything on that end.

"She also found his public school records through age ten; average student, a few minor discipline problems, but nothing really noteworthy. After age ten he appears to have dropped out of school. Most of the rest of his story simply isn't verifiable, for obvious reasons."

Dick must also not be in a place where he was free to talk because he didn't expound on that subject either, "Well, we expected that."

"Yeah. O said she'll give us full reports over the laptop, so we can read it once we're back to our rooms." Tim paused at a crosswalk to wait for the light, "What was your impression of your contacts?"

"Kids."

"They're older than I am and it sounds like they've been through plenty."

"Yes, but they're still kids. They haven't trained like you have."

Tim lips twitched at the back-hand compliment, "We've worked with people with less training."

"Lots of people with far less. I'd swear Booster is trying to sabotage our missions every time we have to work together."

"You've only had to work with him twice and I think he's just jealous of the attention you were getting from all the women on the team." He nodded to the doorman as he entered the hotel lobby. Dick would have taken the aerial route since his current outfit hardly fit Dick Grayson's lifestyle and would draw too much attention. In fact, if Tim hadn't miscalculated, he'd bet that Dick had just arrived in the hotel suite and was about to check out Oracle's reports. "So, you thought they were young and inexperienced. What else?"

He hopped into the elevator and pushed the button for the top floor.

"Sincere, determined, the type of people who'd rush into action rather than plan it out."

"Our kind of people then."

There was a snort from the other end of the connection, "If you mean the kind of people we work with, I'd certainly agree. These three will definitely not just sit back and let someone else handle things."

"That was my impression too. Whatever else happens, we'll have to take their presence into account." He stepped out of the elevator and onto his floor. There was only a single door that led to the large suite they'd booked and he swiped his keycard through the lock and strolled in. Dick was lounging on a sofa, sock-clad feet propped up on an armrest and laptop resting on his stomach.

Tim removed his earpiece and called across the room, "So what do we have about Tom Riddle?"

"Not much. There're records of someone by that name in an orphanage for ten years at about the right time frame, but once he left that there's nothing. 'Voldemort' doesn't come up at all; however, Babs was able to find records of unsolved serial murders, usually multiple homicides, which inexplicably stopped around sixteen years ago. Fits with what they said. And there've been a rash of recent murders as well. The official records are not saying much interesting, but Babs is finding all sorts of strange things on the internet like this." He turned the laptop sideways and Tim saw a photo that'd been posted on JournalLive of a house engulfed in flames with a strange glowing green symbol floating overhead. He squinted at it. It appeared to be a snake and a skull.

"There's no police records that report this strange image, but it's been spotted and photographed at multiple investigations." He scrolled down and there was another screenshot from a different site, this one displaying a photo that was from farther away and blurred, but still clearly the same symbol.

"Think these Death Eaters are leaving a calling card?" Tim straightened up and Dick turned the laptop back to face himself.

"That'd be my first guess. The kids didn't mention anything about this green thing, so I'll ask next time, but that seems like a reasonable explanation."

Tim nodded and moved to the mini-bar and found a cold can of Zesti. "So we're definitely sticking around for a while."

"That's the plan. While you were taking your sweet time getting back here, I e-mailed Bruce and let him know he'd have to get by without us for a while. A group of mass murderers are worth stopping, especially when they have the power to start looking beyond their home territory."

Tim grimaced, "Just what we need, another megalomaniac or crazy, power hungry meta out to rule/destroy/enslave the world."

"Yeah, you'd think by now these people would figure out that that's not the best career option."

Falling back into an armchair across from Dick, Tim asked, "So, what's next in the grand master plan, O Fearless Leader?"

Dick tilted his head to eye his partner, "Tomorrow, I think I'll introduce my little brother."

Tim smiled, "TommyMalone would love to meet a few wizards and witches." He paused in thought, "I take it we're still not using the full personas, just the names?"

"Yep. Keep the tattoos, ditch the accent and attitude."

Tim mock pouted and assumed a heavy Jersey accent, "But yous know how much I looove keepin' in character."

Dick snorted.

Pushing the chair back so it reclined, Tim folded his hand under his head and stared up at the ceiling. "You realize without our equipment we're going to be much less effective than we'd otherwise be."

"There's more to detective work than computers, Timmy."

He wrinkled his nose at the name, but continued, "I know that. I'm not saying it won't be possible, but it'll be faster if we had some access to magic-free space to run things like spectroanalysis and toxicology tests or whatever."

They were scheduled to check out of the hotel tomorrow. They'd planned to either return to Gotham, or, if the letter writer had turned out to be serious about a 'great evil' that they needed to help with, have 'Dick Grayson' and 'Timothy Drake' return on their private jet while Derek and Tommy Malone found a more appropriate place to stay. Something more in keeping with their definite lack of pocket change. Now knowing a bit more about the situation, it looked like they'd probably be stuck working in an environment that precluded the use of their electronic equipment for a good portion of their time.

"Derek and Tommy will stay in some seedy, run down dump," Tim continued musing aloud, "Not the kind of place to leave anything valuable and I doubt any of those magicians-"

"Wizards."

"Whatever," With a flick of his wrist, he brushed the correction aside, "I doubt these _magic-using-persons_ will have a nice, normal room somewhere we could use."

Dick shrugged. "We'll work with what we've got."

After a minute of silence, Dick finally asked, "So, are you going to start reading Oracle's report or are you planning on falling asleep over there?"

"Sleep," he immediately retorted.

He was hit by a throw pillow and three plastic coasters before he could get out of the chair and out of Dick's line of fire.

101010101

Wand in hand, Ron swore at the metal box on the counter in front of him. It was supposed to produce fresh, crispy bacon every time someone tapped it with a wand, but each time he'd tried a soggy, greasy, barely warm strip of meat popped out, flying directly towards his face. The contraption seemed to have a vicious streak and no matter which way he turned it, the resulting bacon always seemed to fly right at him. He was giving serious consideration towards just blasting the stupid thing across the room, except it was one of the few magic devices in the house that was semi-useful. It felt gross, but the bacon was still edible.

Sort of.

"Ron, would you stop messing with that thing?" Hermione called from the kitchen door, "You're not going to fix it by calling it names. Just use the breadbox and we'll eat some more of those crackers."

"They're stale and I think the breadbox is letting a nest of mice live in the back." He continued to glare at the silver box in front of him. He'd swear the thing was smirking at him.

"Mice? That's disgusting! Why didn't you say anything earlier?" She marched into the room to stand beside him and joined his glare at the kitchen appliances, "Vermin are not allowed in the kitchen." With that pronouncement, she cast a hex at the breadbox that made it creak and warp under a green glow before snapping back into shape. The lid popped open and five small brown fluff balls rolled out onto the counter. Not stopping at the edge, they rolled off, bounced onto the floor and continued rolling until they disappeared out the back door.

"Blimey!" Ron stared at where the fuzzy tuffs had disappeared. "Have you shown mum that spell?"

She gave him a smug look, "Where do you think I got it from?"

Ron looked back at the bacon-maker, "I don't suppose you know a spell that'll make this thing work right?"

With a shrug she opened the breadbox and retrieved a conjured cracker, "No, but there are some fantastic home-improvement volumes in the library. I'll fetch you some and you can see if you can find something."

His shoulders slumped as he mumbled, "Fantastic."

"Anyway, I came in here because Harry finished his fire-call to McGonagall. She's demanding Harry return to his relatives and didn't really want to tell him how the Order is getting on, but Harry did manage to get her to admit that neither Snape nor Malfoy have been spotted. As far as anyone knows they've just disappeared off the face of the earth. Of course, they could be at the Death Eater raids, but since they wear those masks and there usually aren't too many witnesses left alive…"

She shrugged and Ron grimaced. "I hope someone gets those bloody bastards soon."

With a resigned look, Hermione agreed, "It would certainly boost morale if someone caught them. But we've got to focus on our bit. Come on, now that Harry's free, let's talk about what we should do about Derek Malone."

With a last glare at the irritating kitchen appliance, Ron followed her out of the kitchen, past the curtained portrait of Mrs. Black, and into the drawing room. Harry sat curled up on a sofa, elbow on the armrest and chin in hand and was gazing sightlessly at a cobweb above the fireplace.

"Hey mate," Ron called, "You still think we should let that muggle try to help us?"

Harry blinked for a moment before visibly recalling his attention to his friends, "Yeah, I do. It can't really hurt, right? And I think there's a good chance he'll be able to do _something_. Even if he's just able to help us find a single Horcrux, it'd be worth it."

"Beside," Hermione interjected, plopping down on the couch beside Harry, "Since he's a muggle, there's really no chance he'll switch sides on us. Any of the Death Eaters would kill him before they listened to anything he had to say."

"Wow, Hermione, that's a happy thought." Ron rolled his eyes at her.

She ignored him, "But that does bring up a good point. He's just a muggle, right? So how's he going to protect himself? He's basically defenseless."

Harry frowned, "Yeah, if any of the Death Eaters get even a hint that he's a threat they'll all go after him and he wouldn't stand a chance. If he's going to help we're going to have to find some way to protect him."

"Wait, guys! Let's back up a minute here." Ron dragged over one of the armchairs and sat on the edge of the seat, facing the other two, "I agree that he'd need protecting and all that, but aren't we getting a little ahead of ourselves here? I was thinking maybe some Veritaserum to make sure he hasn't been lying to us and then-"

"Ron!" Hermione gasped, "You really think he's a spy? He didn't even know who Voldemort was!"

"And Snape could have probably acted the same if he needed to!" He retorted, "I'm just saying we should be more cautious."

Hermione drew in a breath to argue, but was interrupted by Harry, "I think Ron's right. We should be careful. But Veriserum is too hard to get a hold of. Maybe…" He looked at Hermione hopefully, "Do you know of anything similar that we might be able to actually get or make?" Hermione's frown smoothed out in thought.

"There's nothing as foolproof. There're some potions that'll make a person more relaxed and trusting, less likely to lie, but nothing a strong willed person couldn't get around. We could test some on Harry, since he can break an Imperius – that'd give us a rough guess as to how effective it'd be."

Ron gave Harry an apologetic look before nodding, "Sorry, Harry, but I think she's right; you'll have to be our test subject. There's no way that a muggle will have experience breaking curses or shielding his mind, so if it works on you, it'll work ten times as well on him."

Harry cocked his head and considered this, "I'm inclined to trust Derek to begin with," He began slowly, "but I don't think that that's a bad idea. I don't want to end up regretting talking to him…" He trailed off then nodded decisively, "Yes, let's do this first, then, if he passes the test, we'll offer to let him stay here. This house is Fildelius protected now, so no one should be able to find him here and he'd be a lot safer than wherever he's at now."

Hermione nodded eagerly and stood up, "I'll check on potions! I'm sure I remember reading things on lie prevention or detection. And I'll see if I can find anything about protecting muggles. Lots of wizards have muggle relatives and I'm sure people have thought of things to keep them safe."

Both boys watched as she dashed to the stairs, excited to have a plan of action.

Ron turned to Harry and lowered his voice, "I know Hermione wants this guy to turn out to be someone we can trust, and you said you're inclined to believe he's harmless, but do you really think he can help? You heard what he said 'I'm good at finding stuff'! That's hardly a ringing endorsement." Ron slouched down in his seat and glared at his scuffed sneakers. "I just don't think we should waste our time on this guy when we've got more important things to do."

Sighing, Harry rubbed the scar on his forehead, "But we don't know where to start. Hermione's read practically the entire Hogwarts library and I wouldn't be surprised if she's at least skimmed through everything here. There's nothing on Horcruxes we didn't already know and nothing about how to find one. So what do you think we should do? Take out a full page ad in the Prophet asking for anyone with a piece of Voldemort's soul to step forward?"

"Of course not! But we haven't even really tried searching on our own yet. We're pretty sure he used stuff from the Hogwarts' founders, but we haven't even started on that huge genealogy book Hermione found. There've got to be some descendants with heirlooms that have been stolen. And we know it takes a 'significant murder' to create one, so we could look into people who were killed seventeen or eighteen years ago."

"Yes, I agree, Ron. We can do all that and I think we _should _do all that, but that doesn't mean I don't think we should use every resource available. Like I said before, if this guy can help find even _one_ Horcrux sooner than we'd otherwise, I think it's worth it."

Ron opened his mouth to argue when he noticed that Harry had his eyes squeezed shut and had stopped rubbing his forehead and was now just pressing his palm there as if holding back something that was trying to force itself out. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he asked, "Does your scar hurt?"

Harry grunted, "Just a headache."

Ron frowned and fidgeted for a minute, "Want me to get you a pain potion?"

"I'll be fine."

Ron bit back the question about whether Voldemort was messing with his head or not. Harry wouldn't appreciate it and there wasn't anything they could do if the Dark Lord _was_ doing anything. Harry had been relatively vision-free for the last year and Ron could only hope that it continued that way. If Voldemort discovered they knew about his Horcruxes and were working to destroy them, he'd either retrieve the ones he'd already made and make them even harder to find or start making new ones. Either way it would be bad.

At last Harry relaxed, dropping his hand, although he didn't open his eyes.

"You alright, mate?"

He responded with a barely perceptible nod, "Yeah, everything's fine." He paused a moment then changed the topic, "I think we should meet in the Shrieking Shack next time."

"What, with Derek?"

"Yeah. We'll introduce Derek to the bartender at the Leakey Cauldron, who can get him through the floo to Hogsmeade and we'll give him directions to the shack. That'd be a better meeting place than the roof. And if we're going to give him a potion and question him, we'll need someplace private."

Ron frowned. The Shrieking Shack was certainly deserted, but it seemed like too good a hiding place to let someone else know about. "He'd have to use the secret passage near the Whomping Willow at Hogwarts. There's really no other way into that building since the doors are sealed shut. That'd be too complicated to try to describe. I think we should go somewhere else."

"Well, what to you suggest?"

He thought about it a moment, "How about Fred and George's shop? They'd let us use the back room."

"You don't think the Death Eaters have that place under watch?"

Ron scowled, "Even if they do, I'm not going to let fear of them stop me from visiting my brothers. Besides, if we floo over, no one outside will be able to tell we're there."

Harry thought a moment then nodded. "Yes, the three of us can floo over and I think we'll let Derek use the Leaky Cauldron's floo rather than just giving him directions to walk down the road."

Ron's eyebrows shot up. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was only a few doors down the alley from the Leaky Cauldron. "You think he wouldn't be okay wandering around Diagon Alley on his own?"

Harry shrugged, "He'd probably be fine, but if we're going to have him help, we can't hold his hand every step of the way. If he uses the floo we'll find out if he can handle a bit of magic."

Ron's face broke into a grin, "Using the floo will be a test just like the potion! That's brilliant."

Harry cracked open an eye and returned the grin, "Just don't tell Hermione."

Ron's grin turned contemplative. If they were going to see how well Derek handled magic, he might just let the twins know they'd be having a visitor who could use a bit of sounding out…

His thoughts were interrupted when Hermione burst through the door carrying a thick volume open to a page somewhere near the beginning. "I found it!"

"Wow, Hermione, that was quick!" Ron said, impressed.

"Yes, well, I thought I'd seen something like this before, I just had to remember what book it was in." She moved to the center of the room and re-positioned the book so both boys could see the page. Elaborate script at the top declared 'Subtle Suggestions for the Susceptible Mind' and Ron's eyebrows climbed. It sounded more like a potion that would make the drinker do whatever he was told than a truth serum. "I think we have most of the ingredients and I'm sure your brothers have some leaches that have fed on mandrakes, right?"

Ron blinked, "The twins? Er…" How would he know what kind of potion ingredients they kept?

"It's probably one of the things that makes the Giggling Pastries work," Hermione continued, oblivious to Ron's lack of response, "We'll just borrow some of those from them. And they might have the crab apple seeds and Ether Essence too." She flipped the book back around so she could look at the potion directions again, "We've got everything else here already. It only takes half an hour to brew and then needs to chill for another five, so we could get it done tonight."

Ron's eyes lit up, "Great! I'll go ask Fred and George about those leaches right now."

"And the crab apple seeds and Ether Essence!"

"Right, those too."

Ron snagged the floo power and called out for 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' as Hermione urged Harry to help her grind some quartz.

Half an hour later a less jubilant Ron tumbled back into the now empty drawing room.

After brushing off most of the soot, he trotted out of the room, across the hall, and down a flight of stairs to the basement. He heard Hermione before he saw her, "…just like that. It'll have to be more burgundy than it is right now. A few more Spruce needles ought to do it…"

Picking his way past a maze of broken furniture and edging around a rumbling locked chest, Ron wondered why potions always seemed to be brewed in the lowest parts of a building. What was wrong with the kitchen table? Or even the attic?

"Ron!" He looked up to spot the witch's face over a wall of musky rolled carpets, "Did you get everything?"

"No." Her face fell, "They didn't have the Ether Essence. They said they could pick some up, but the apothecary is closed."

Hermione frowned and looked up. Following her gaze, Ron realized someone had stuck a clock to the ceiling. It read 'almost midnight'. "I didn't realize it was so late."

"Is this color good, Hermione?" Harry's voice called from somewhere out of sight and Hermione's head disappeared from view as she went to inspect the potion.

Stepping over a snapping shoe and around a couple of empty crates, he arrived in the space that'd been cleared out for potion making just in time to see Hermione take the stirring rod from Harry and lift it from the cauldron so she could see the thickness of the brew as it flowed off the tip.

Harry looked over at Ron and gave him a tired grin, "How were the twins?"

"Good. Working on half a dozen new products, of course. Wanted me to test some Cramping Clothes 'for the sister who keeps stealing your perfect outfit', but I told them I have an allergy to pink."

Harry's grin widened, "And they made you try something on anyway, I'll bet."

Ron made a face, and grumbled, "At least it wasn't the dress. And whatever was supposed to make you feel the cramps wasn't working 'cause I didn't feel anything. They weren't sure if it was because I was a guy or if the formula still needs work."

Nodding, Harry turned back to Hermione who was frowning into the cauldron, a pinch of red ant legs held aloft over the liquid, "Will this potion keep until tomorrow?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, I'll just put a stasis field over it. It's a non-reactive potion, so that won't hurt it." With a sharp nod, she opened her fingers and released the ant legs. It must have been effective as her face immediately relaxed.

"Since we don't have everything this one needs, what about any of the other potions?" Ron asked, "You said there were several that might work."

"Yes, but nothing that's any better." She flicked her wand at the cauldron and the steam above it seemed to freeze in mid air. Tilting the open book towards the two boys, she flipped a few pages and pointed at another potion entitled 'The Mind Becomes Mine', "This one borders on dark magic. You have to get the person's blood in the potion and then someone else drinks it and the person's who's blood was taken can't lie to whoever drunk the potion for a period of time – about a week."

Harry interrupted, "No! We're not using anything that needs human blood." He rubbed his arm and Ron winced as he realized it was the same spot where Wormtail had cut him when he'd raised the Dark Lord.

Hermione must have realized the same thing as she quickly turned and grabbed a second book which had been resting on another table and briskly began, "Right. Well, this one might also work. It's in a series called, 'Answers for Troubling Children' and they all seem to be potions a parent might give a rebellious child. Like this one makes mud on the skin itch, so a child might be more inclined to keep clean." She frowned, "Actually, that's one of the nicer ones. I don't know who would use some of these other potions. There's one that makes a kid's tongue bleed if they swear and another that removes his toes if he goes into a room he's not supposed to."

"That's awful!" Ron exclaimed. He couldn't even begin to imagine his parents using anything like that, even on one of the twins after they'd destroyed his mum's favorite quilt.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Mrs. Black used some of these on Sirius." Harry commented grimly, "There's a reason he hated her and this house, after all."

Hermione cleared her throat, "Yes, well, one of the spells was one on truth telling and it basically made a person's nose grow every time they lied."

"Wait, what? Like Pinocchio?"

Hermione gave Harry small shrug, "Yeah, sounds like that story might have come from this. Anyway, it's relatively harmless, the nose reverts to the correct length in a couple of hours. Obviously it'd work for what we need, but this potion takes almost three days to finish."

Harry shook his head, "We might as well just finish this one tomorrow."

"Exactly." She closed the book and tossed it back onto the table behind her. Ron was a bit surprised at how carelessly she handled it considering how reverently she handled most other books. He figured it was testament to exactly how much she'd disliked some of the spells in it. "Okay, since we're as far as we can go for now, let's get something to eat and make up a list of questions we're going to ask Derek."

Ron groaned. Greasy, undercooked bacon and stale crackers again. And then lists. Wasn't it bedtime yet? And he must be getting old if he was thinking something like that!

"I'll make some biscuits tonight," Harry volunteered and Ron perked up. Harry was a good cook, when he chose to be, thanks to those muggles he'd lived with, but he didn't often offer and neither Ron nor Hermione had felt comfortable asking, so the fact that he was willing to bake something would be a real treat.

Ron slapped him on the shoulder, "Thanks mate, that'll be great."

101010101

After much nagging, prodding, and bribing with caffeine, Hermione was able to get both boys up and moving early enough to arrive at the Leaky Cauldron ten minutes before noon. Since they didn't have the eager anticipation from yesterday, neither boy had been that enthusiastic at the idea of crawling out of bed, so Hermione felt quite a sense of accomplishment that they'd gotten there before lunchtime. In the cramped alley beside the pub, Hermione demanded to be lifted to the roof first and Harry obliged without arguing; however she didn't immediately turn and raise either of the boys up behind her as she noticed their visitor had brought a guest.

Derek sat in the same position as before, lounging with legs out-stretched, eyes closed, and face raised to the sun on the peak of the rooftop. Beside him, sitting cross-legged, palms loosely clasping each knee, also with eyes closed, was a younger boy. He too had dark hair and scraggily clothes similar to Derek's. In fact, now that she looked, it seemed that Derek was wearing the same ripped outfit he'd had on yesterday.

"Hey, who's that?" Apparently the boys had gotten tired of waiting for her to help and Harry had lifted Ron up beside her while she'd been distracted. He was scowling at the pair across the roof, "Didn't we say we didn't want anyone else to know about this?"

"Oh, relax, Ron. I'm sure Derek will explain once we get over there." She turned and quickly hoisted Harry up. He too scowled once he saw the newcomer.

"Great, "He growled under his breath, "He can find stuff, but apparently can't keep his bloody mouth shut." Marching over to Derek and his young friend, Harry demanded, "Who is this?"

Derek opened his eyes and grinned over at them, ignoring the unfriendly greeting. "This is Tommy, my little brother."

That somewhat took the wind out of Harry's sails. Family was important. He understood that more than most. "Why is he here?" He asked, in a slightly less aggressive tone than before.

Tommy now had his eyes open and examined them with a calm, clear gaze, looking not at all offended at the less than warm welcome he was receiving. His eyes, like Derek's were blue, but they were paler, not quite as strikingly vibrant.

"It's just to two of us." Derek explained, "I couldn't just abandon him on the streets while I hung out with you guys, now could I?"

Harry grimaced.

Although he didn't like it, he couldn't deny that Derek was appealing to the one area that would always get through to him. Family. From Derek's short statement, it was clear that Tommy's parents weren't in the picture and he could relate all too well with being an orphan and wanting to stick close to the only family he had left – at least, the only family that seemed to want him.

He glanced back at Ron, who was still glaring at the brothers and Hermione who looked more sympathetic. None of them wanted a fifth person in their group, especially not someone they'd have to watch over. Tommy looked old enough not to need constant babysitting, but they weren't going to have time to entertain a bored teenager.

"Fine," Harry reluctantly conceded, "We know some people who might be able to watch him while we -"

"No. He stays with me." Derek interrupted in a firm voice. "We're a package deal."

"No way!" Ron blurted out, "This is dangerous stuff. We won't have time to protect your kid brother while we're out hunting down-" He cut himself off then continued in a slightly awkward tone, "er, the stuff we need."

Derek tilted his head to acknowledge Ron, but kept eye contact with Harry seeming to have picked up on the fact that Harry was really the one he needed to convince. "Tommy can take care of himself."

"It really is dangerous." Hermione spoke up, "Neither of you have seen what kinds of nasty things magic can do. But this is serious. A single spell could kill you on the spot or slice off a limb or…" She waved her hand expansively, "There's any number of horrible things that could happen if one of Voldemort's followers managed to get a hold of him."

Neither Tommy nor Derek looked particularly disturbed by Hermione's warning and Harry wondered if he'd have to do some sort of demonstration of just how dangerous magic could be. They didn't seem to be grasping the deadly serious nature of their situation.

"I understand what you're trying to say and I appreciate the fact that you're just trying to protect him, but this is a non-negotiable point. Tommy isn't going to get in the way, but he's going to be staying with me," Derek stated.

Harry frowned while Ron silently fumed beside him. They had planned on taking Derek to Grimauld Place once they'd determined he was trustworthy and there were plenty of rooms in that grim mansion, so another body wasn't going to inconvenience anyone. It was just that it was irritating to have someone else _there_. They'd purposely left Ron's sister, Ginny, back at the Burrow and she at least knew magic. But he kept coming back to the fact that Tommy and Derek were a family who wanted to stick together.

He sighed but nodded his acceptance to Derek, ignoring Ron's sputtering indignation. "We have someplace safe for you both to stay, but we need to double check that you're really who you say you are first."

Derek's eyes narrowed just a bit, "How will you do that?"

"We have a potion we'll ask you to drink." He promptly answered. "I don't think there's enough for both of you…" He glanced at Hermione, questioningly and her apologetic look was enough of an answer, "But if you take it and still say that Tommy is your brother, I think that'll be good enough."

"So," Derek clarified slowly, "You want me to take some sort of truth serum?"

"Yes. Well, no, it's not quite a truth potion, but close enough."

Hermione, clearly not satisfied with such a vague answer, interjected, "It's actually a suggestibility potion. You won't be forced to babble out every little detail, but you'll be unlikely to lie to us since this will lower the barriers around your conscious mind and lessen the inhibitors on what you say. So you'll probably blurt out the answer to a question before you remember whether you should tell a lie or not. This way we'll get the most truthful thought you have."

"Ah." Derek and Tommy exchanged a glance. "Well, your caution is admirable. I don't think that'll be a problem as long as Tommy can sit in on this little question and answer session to make sure you don't ask for any embarrassing blackmail material." His smirk let them know he was joking and Harry felt some of the tension he hadn't realized he'd been carrying dissipate. If Derek had been someone polyjuiced and just acting like he was on their side, he wouldn't have conceded to being questioned so easily. He hadn't even asked the name of the potion, so Derek couldn't have some sort of antidote handy either.

"Yeah, Tommy can come along. Just don't interrupt." The last statement he directed at the younger boy, who shrugged and nodded. "We don't have the potion ready yet, so we'll have to meet again tomorrow. Bring whatever stuff you want to keep with you because it'll be safer if you stay with us after that." He paused, glanced at Ron, then continued, "We'll be meeting at Ron's brother's place instead of here. It's in the magic part of London, so you'll have to use the floo to get there." He pulled out a gallon and handed it to Derek who examined the gold coin for a moment before passing it to Tommy who also inspected it. "That's some wizard money. Give it to Tom, the bartender down in the pub and ask him to show you how to use the floo to get to 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' – that's Ron's brother's shop. We'll meet you there at 2:00, if that works for you."

"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes" Derek repeated. "We'll be there."

A/N: Well, that wraps up this chapter. As you can see, each side is rather under-impressed with the others at the moment, but that'll probably change … eventually :-)

I realize that most of you who read this won't review, but I'd still appreciate any small note just to let me know that there are a few people who enjoyed it. I probably wouldn't have gotten this out when I did without a lovely review asking for it, so they do work on making authors write faster!


	5. Shall we test the waters?

**A/N: Another 6 months between updates? Really! Okay, first of all, a huge 'I AM SUCH A HORRIBLE PERSON, PLEASE FORGIVE ME!'. I really don't mean to be such a slow author. I'll probably need to apologize every time I post a new chapter. So, yeah. Sorry about that. **

**And since it's been soooo long, I better give you a reminder: from the Harry Potter point of view, Dick = Derek and Tim = Tommy. Is it all coming back to you now? Good, good. Now, on with the show!**

**Chapter 5 – Shall we Test the Waters?**

Harry eyed the little glass vial with the pungent steam rising from it. He really hated potions.

Hermione picked it up off the table and brought it over to him, "Okay Harry, it's cool enough to drink now."

"Wonderful." He muttered dryly, but obediently reached out for it. He didn't particularly like the idea of being questioned under a truth serum, even by his friends, but if they were going to expect a helpless muggle to drink it, Harry felt that the least he should do was to make sure the potion worked alright. He trusted Hermione's brewing skills and so wasn't too concerned that the concoction would do something horrible to him, but it was better to be sure. Besides, as Hermione has said earlier, this wasn't Veritaserum and so they needed to be sure they knew exactly how this potion worked.

Pinching his nose, he gagged the nasty drink down and waited to see what would happen.

Ron settled into the seat across from him and stared expectantly into his face. Harry scrunched up his nose at him and turned to Hermione, "How long does it take to –" He was cut off by an unexpected burp and he put a hand to his chest in surprise.

"That's it." Hermione nodded in satisfaction. "You shouldn't be feeling any different, but you'll say the first thing that comes to mind when we ask questions."

Harry nodded slowly, taking a careful inventory of how he felt. His stomach was a bit unsettled, but after downing something that smelled as bad as that potion had, he'd have been more surprised if he felt perfectly fine. He didn't feel mentally fogged over either. If he didn't know better he'd say the potion had been brewed wrong.

"Harry," Hermione stated, gaining his attention, "I'm going to ask you a few questions and don't try to lie this first time."

Harry nodded again.

"What's your full name?"

"Harry James Potter." He promptly stated. He didn't feel like the answer had been forced out of him, just that he was naturally answering the question.

"Who were your parents?"

"James and Lily Potter."

"Which house were you in at Hogwarts?"

"Gryffindor."

"Hey Harry!" Ron interjected with a mischevious grin, "Who do you wish you'd asked to be your date at the Yule ball in fourth year?"

Harry flushed and stuttered for a moment before saying, "I don't know."

Rather than admonishing Ron for interrupting, Hermione asked Harry, "Did you think of a person and just not tell us or do you honestly not know who you'd have liked to go out with?"

Harry thought about it for a moment then said, "I'm not sure."

Forehead creased a bit, Hermione dropped that topic pressed on to the next phase of their experiment, "Well, try to lie now. What's your name?"

Harry opened his mouth and his mind blanked for a moment. The only name he could think of was 'Harry'. He bit his lip then blurted out, "Boy!"

Both his friends blinked at him before Hermione tentatively repeated, "Boy?"

The flush that had been fading reappeared, but Harry lifted his chin and said, "It wasn't 'Harry', was it?"

"…No, I suppose it wasn't." Looking like she wanted to stop and pursue that a bit more, Hermione took a deep breath and let it out. "Alright, who were your parents?"

Again Harry's mind seemed to blank as he struggled to come up with an answer that wasn't James or Lily, but the pause was shorter this time before two names flashed up, "Molly Weasley and Sirius Black."

Ron rocked back with a bark of laughter, "I'm not sure if Mum would be more trilled to know you claimed her as your mother or simply horrified that you said she had an affair with Sirius to do it."

Harry shot him a hard look, not at all amused. This was more difficult than he thought it'd be.

"This isn't going well," Hermione fretted. "You're able to lie to us." Her forehead wrinkled, "Although you're pausing before the answers first." She tapped her chin for a moment, "I wonder if that's what we'll have to look out for."

Harry frowned and shifted uncomfortably in his seat before Hermione continued her questions.

"What house were sorted into in Hogwarts?"

Once again Harry's mind blanked. He could think of Gryffindor, but at the moment couldn't come up with the names of the other three houses. He couldn't even picture what their symbols were. "I-I- I was in –" Harry stumbled to a halt, unable to figure out what to say that was a lie. Then, as before, his mind supplied different answers, 'The Lion's Den', 'McGonagall's House', 'The red and gold house', but none of the things he could think of were technically untrue, none of them misleading enough to make Hermione and Ron think he meant one of the other houses.

And just like that, he understood how this potion worked.

"Harry?" Hermione questioned, uncertainly.

"Gryffindor," Harry replied firmly. Both Ron and Hermione frowned. "When does this potion stop working?"

Hermione tilted her head, but answered readily, "It's supposed to work for around fifteen minutes. You'll burp again when it's done."

Harry nodded, "Ask me about my relationship with Voldermort."

"What?" Hermione was looking at him with a touch of bewilderment while Ron continued to frown.

"Just do it. I want to test something."

Gamely Hermione asked, "What is your relationship with Voldermort?"

Immediately Harry answered, "We've spoken nearly every year since I entered Hogwarts and he's asked me to join him. He's taught me a lot of things and introduced me to some powerful people which I would never have met otherwise. It's because of him that I had such a close relationship with Dumbledore and got to spend my recent Christmas holidays with people I love. He's given me the best memory of my parents that I have. He's powerful, and good with animals. He's one of the people I feel the closest connection to when I'm alone and depressed." Harry stopped and looked at his friends in satisfaction.

Ron's eyes were bugging out and Hermione was looking more than a little horrified.

"He's good with animals?" Ron echoed, sounding a bit lost.

Hermione's expression hardened and she narrowed her eyes, "Did the potion wear off or something? What was all that about?"

Harry grinned, "The potion is still working, I just figured out how you need to think to beat it." He paused then a loud burp singled the end of their experiment.

A sudden pain bloomed behind his eyes. He rubbed his eyes and grimaced, but the headache faded almost as quick as it had arrived.

"You figured out how to lie?"

He shook his head, "Everything I said was true. That's why this potion isn't used instead of Veriserum, all you have to do is say the truth in such a way as to be misleading. I said Voldermort gave me the best memories of my parents that I have, and that's true. The only real memories I have of them are my mom's screams she was about to die and that time their ghosts came out of his wand in the graveyard. Those are my only memories, and he's responsible for them both, so..."

"Yes, but…" Hermione thought back over what he'd said. "I suppose I see what you mean."

"You-know-who is good with animals?" Ron repeated, his disbelief even greater now that Harry was telling them he'd been honest.

Harry shrugged, "He treats his snake well."

Ron just shook his head slowly, "That's just wrong, mate. So very wrong."

"So you couldn't lie at all?" Hermione clarified.

Harry shook his head. "No. Everything I said had to be true, but there was plenty of leeway to be ambiguous." He gave her a crooked smile, "I think we can use this potion on Derek without any problem, we'll just have to be very careful about our questions. Maybe only 'yes' or 'no' ones."

Hermione tapped her chin in thought, "No vague, open-ended questions then." Her focus drifted off then she seemed to recall something as her gaze snapped back to Harry. "So…about your name…?" Harry stiffened as Hermione's gentle question fell and something of that reaction must have communicated itself to her because she hastily continued, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." She bit her lip, "But, Harry, if you ever do – want to talk, that is – remember that I'll always be willing to listen."

The sincerity in her eyes caused him to deflate and his shoulders hunched as he nodded. That seemed to be as much response as she needed because she gave sharp nod and turned to pick up the discarded potion vial to clean out and re-fill with the next dose for Derek.

Ron's eyes darted between the two of them for a moment before he cleared his throat and started talking loudly about the stupefyingly idiotic things the Daily Prophet had printed in that morning's paper. Harry allowed himself to be drawn into the easy conversation with some relief.

010101

Floo travel was definitely not something Dick would recommend. While the actual sensation itself was rather exhilarating, the sudden arrival was less son. He would much prefer time to look about and assess the situation before being thrust into the middle of it. Being spit out into the open like he'd been made his instincts for stealth cringe.

Despite his sudden arrival, he landed on his feet, balanced and alert, and moved aside even as he took in the room he'd landed in. Tim followed seconds behind him, bouncing a bit to keep his footing, before he too shifted to the side, almost instinctively making himself a harder target in case of ambush

.

There was no one to greet them. Or if there was, it wasn't readily apparent. Of course, considering all the noise and motion, it would have been hard to spot someone even if they'd been standing right there.

They appeared to have landed in a toy store. One where the toys had come to life and decided to run amok. Directly in front of them sat a wide bookcase stretching to the ceiling, each shelf containing a bizarre array of odds and ends. One shelf held small, palm sized cauldrons, each emitting a whiff of purple smoke. The next shelf held was looked like plastic Easter eggs that wiggled and bounced but never managed to fall off the edge. Above those were chess pieces, fighting with tiny little swords and no apparent battle plan. From the ceiling, suspended with string were several small wooden broomsticks which flew in complicated patterns as if trying to outdo each other with their acrobatics.

"Ugh," Came Tim's quiet voice beside him. Glancing down at him, Dick saw Tim grimace at their surroundings, "This looks like something the Joker would love."

Dick eyed a three-foot suit of armor patrolling along one wall and had to agree.

"Ah! Guests!" A voice, soon followed by a face, popped around the side of one end of the bookcase.

"You must be Ronnie-kins' little helpers!"A second face, identical to the first popped around the other side. The red hair and freckles, if nothing else, proclaimed these gentlemen to be Ron's brothers.

Dick looked from one twin to the other, noting their relaxed posture and empty hands. With magic, you could never be sure, but at least they didn't look armed or hostile. "And you must be the brothers we were told about."

The grins flashed at them were a bit over-enthusiastic, "Yes indeed."

"We're the smarter, handsomer, -"

"More sucessful, handsomer, -"

"I believe I mentioned that, brother mine."

"And it deserves to be mentioned again. We are twice the Weasley that he is, after all."

Both brothers turned to look at each other then at them as if used to pausing for an audience response.

"I'm sure you are," Dick agreed, with a bland smile. It was quite the routine the two had perfected. With the way a person was forced to constantly look from one to the other to keep up with the flow of dialogue, a person would be hard pressed to notice much of anything else. "However, we were invited here to talk to your brother, so if you don't mind pointing out the way...?"

"Of course!" The first twin turned and vanished behind the shelving he'd appeared from.

"How rude of us. Just this way." This second twin walked across the room to where the first had stood and beckoned them to follow.

Dick and Tim exchanged a glance and obediently followed, keeping a cautious distance from the shelving and their moving objects.

They didn't have to go far. Directly behind the furniture stood a closed door and the twins flanking it with hands pointing the way as if they were footmen in a Victorian romance novel ushering the princess through to meet the prince. "Right this way, gentlemen. Right through here."

"Step lively my good sirs."

Dick eyed the beaming twins then the door. His gut was telling him that they were being a bit too enthusiastic here. With casual politeness he gestured to the door, "If one of you would lead the way...?"

Neither Weasley moved forward, "Ah, I am afraid we weren't invited to your little meeting."

"Ickle Ronnie-kins and his little friends are just down that hall and in the next room."

"You can't miss it."

From the corner of his eye, he could see Tim's head swing between the door, the twins, and back to Dick, waiting for Dick's cue on how they were going to proceed.

There really wasn't much choice. There were no windows in the room, and they didn't have any more of that green powder that brought then through the fireplace (a situation which Dick realized, in hindsight, put himself and Tim in a very vulnerable position), so unless they were planning on breaking down a wall, the door was only way out.

He hesitated a moment more, glanced down at Tim, then stepped forward. He wasn't really getting a malicious vibe from either of them. Manic, perhaps, mischievous, certainly, but not cruel, so he'd take the chance that whatever they were anticipating would happen when he opened that door wouldn't be harmful.

At his touch the door swung open revealing a hallway that looked like it had been built by someone who had been blind drunk. The wooden floor rippled as if it had been built over a bed of lumpy rocks or a moving body of water. The walls leaned to the left just enough to make him wonder if it was his imagination and the ceiling was dripping with glowing waxy-looking strings. They wiggled in a very uninviting way.

Still wary of whatever might happen, Dick kept one eye on the wax strings and leaned over the threshold.

A bowl filled with Pepto-Bismol-colored liquid materialized above his head and overturned.

Dick jumped back from the falling liquid, fast enough to evade the majority of it, but not quick enough to avoid getting splattered.

He whirled on the twins, "What was that? It went splat!" He snapped his mouth shut at that last phrase, not sure where it had come from since it was so inane. He wiped the back of his hand on his pants, but the pink foam had already evaporated. Or sunk into his skin.

He hoped it didn't turn him into a toad or something. That would be annoying to fix.

Tim was glaring at the twins, clenching and unclenching his fist in agitation. "What was that?"

The twin on the right beamed, "Nothing, just a bit of our poetic justice line."

"What does it do?" The younger boy ground out, stepping between Dick and the wizards, as if Dick needed protecting.

The second twin smirked. "Ask him." He indicated Dick.

Tim shot him a concerned look and lowered his voice, "Are you okay? What did it do?"

Dick shook his head, "I don't feel bad, or even very sad." He stopped as Tim gave him a doubtful look and then cautiously tried to speak again, a horrible suspicion taking form. "I seem to be speaking as a demon creaking." He wrinkled his nose and glared daggers at the red heads.

"They made you rhyme?" Tim's incredulous voice asked.

Not trusting his voice, Dick nodded.

The twins beamed at them, completely unaffected by Tim's disgruntlement and Dick's displeasure.

Cautiously, Tim questioned, "Anything else?"

As the twins looked at him expectantly, Dick cleared his throat and answered, "Right as rain, I am not in pain." At least, not if you don't count the mental agony of speaking in horrific rhymes.

The wizard on the left nodded in agreement, "It's not permanent and doesn't do anything except affect your speech patterns."

The second one proudly added, "It's called poetic justice because you can tell what kind of person someone is by how it affects their speech."

Head bobbing like a demented bobble-head, the first twin continued, "One of our friends spoke in haiku and another one couldn't do anything but swear."

"Quite creatively too."

"We'd never guessed he knew those types of words, did we?"

"Very true."

"We're sure there's a way to tell what someone is like based on how they react to the potion, but…"

"We haven't had enough test subjects to get a good feel for it yet."

They both peered at Dick in exaggerated expectancy. "So, what kind of person does simple rhyming?"

Tim turned his head away, but not before Dick spotted his lips twitching. He narrowed his eyes at the back of his partner's head. Just because he'd been stuck with one of the simplest forms of 'poetry' out there didn't imply anything about his intelligence or personality!

Since glowering at the back of Tim's head wasn't very productive, Dick finally just sighed, "So how long will I do this song?" He grimaced anew at the awkward way he was being forced to talk. Although now that he thought of it, at least he wasn't stuck singing every other word. That'd be quite a bit worse than rhyming. And he had no doubt Tim would have found a way to record _that_.

Simultaneous shrugs met his question before one twin volunteered, "It probably won't last more than a few more minutes."

"At least, we don't think so."

Again, both redheads peered at him expectantly.

Dick groaned, but before he was forced to speak again, a female voice called out from behind another door down the hall, "Fred, George? Have the-" Hermione poked her head out of a doorway and stopped, "Oh! You're here." She smiled at both Dick and Tim.

Proving that the doorway was now free of any magical hazards, one of the twins sauntered past them into the hall, "Hermione! Champion of all that is Literary!"

The second twin joined his brother and spread his hands in a wide gesture, "Damsel with Great Respect for all things Academic!"

Hermione's eyes narrowed and she moved farther out into the hallway, hands on hips, "What did you two do?" She looked past them and scanned over Dick and Tim, "Did you do something to them?"

"Us?"

"Would we ever do something-"

"-not worthy of the pursuit of the knowledge?"

"Perish the thought!"

A thunder cloud seemed to be moving over her face, "What did you do?" Her wand appeared in her hand and she waved it in front of the twins as if she were waggling a finger in admonishment at them. "They're muggles! They can't defend themselves! What were you thinking?" Her wand sparked and Dick briefly glowed a horrific shade of puce. He was getting rather tired of having magic thrust on him without being asked first."You fed him a potion!"

"Well, technically-"

"No! This isn't some cute prank. They," She pointed directly at Dick, "are not used to magic. How do you think your parents would feel if they knew you were playing tricks on little children or someone who was blind?"

Dick might not have appreciated having some weird spells cast on him, but he hardly felt it was on the same level as what Hermione was making it out to be. He wasn't exactly helpless and hadn't walked through the doorway at gunpoint. Or wandpoint. Whatever.

One twin tried to say something but he was run right over by Hermione's lecture, "Muggle-baiting is the kind of thing that _Death Eaters_ do."

Dick decided that he ought to intervene as he hadn't actually gotten hurt and Hermione was looking like she was ready to start hurling hexes at someone. Besides, the twins were actually starting to look a bit ashamed of themselves. "It's okay, Hermione. They didn't make us want to flee." Alright, so that sounded a bit awkward, but at least he hadn't added on something completely ridiculous this time.

She pinned him with a searching look, but finally gave a sharp nod and spun away to march back through the door she'd exited from. Both twins shot him vaguely apologetic looks and slunk away, giving the doorway where Hermione had disappeared through a wide berth.

010101

Hermione was still fuming when Derek and Tommy entered the room. Harry and Ron were still sitting across the room where she'd left them and were eyeing her with a kind of awed wariness evidently having heard her chew out the twins. Well, they deserved it! Playing pranks on helpless muggles. What were they thinking?

With a huff she settled into an overstuffed armchair nodding to a pair of wooden chairs across from her to show Derek and Tommy where they were expected to sit.

As they moved into the room Ron leaned forward and asked, "What was that all about? What did Fred and George do?"

Hermione pursed her lips, but Tommy spoke up before she could explode into another rant, "They dumped some sort of potion on Derek. It's making him speak in rhymes."

"Really?" Ron gave Derek an interested look, but Harry spoke up before he could ask for a demonstration.

"Hermione, will that interfere with our potion?"

Hermione glanced down at the little vial of truth-telling potion they'd brought. "I don't think so." She looked over at Derek and gently asked, "Did they say how long it would last?"

Again Tommy answered, saving Derek from having to speak, "They said it would wear off pretty quickly."

"Then we should probably wait for that. I don't think there'd be any sort of interaction, but since I don't know what ingredients they used, it'd be better to wait just in case."

The silence hung between them as everyone stared at each other for a moment. Considering they were there for the purpose of making sure that they were able to talk freely, it made thinking of something safe to say in the meantime a bit more challenging.

"…So," Harry addressed both Tommy and Derek, "Either of you, um, play sports?"

He was obviously struggling to find a topic that would put everyone at ease and so Hermione jumped in, "Yes, what do you enjoy doing in your free time?"

Derek lounged back in his chair, "Neither of us are on any sports teams, but we're working on living our dreams."

Hermione couldn't help but wrinkle her nose at the ridiculous turn of phrase, but she hastily controlled her expression, not wanted to draw too much attention to that problem, "Yes? Your dreams?" She turned encouragingly to Tommy, "What do you dream about?"

The younger boy snorted and looked away, "Nothing. World peace."

She frowned, not sure he if he was mocking her. "World peace is a worthy dream"

The boy shrugged and crossed his arms. She wondered if he was going to have an attitude problem or if he was just upset that his brother was dragging him into such a crazy situation.

Ron piped up, "Harry and I play Quidditch at school. Which pro team do you guys root for?"

Hermione shot Ron an incredulous look. Sometimes that boy could be unbelievably dense. Especially when it came to Quidditch. "They're _muggles_ Ron, remember?"

He glanced at her, then shot the brothers a pitying look, "Well, we'll just have to teach you." He leaned forward and earnestly declared, "The Chudley Cannons are the best team in Britain. They're going to win the next cup."

Hermione felt a headache coming on.

Before Ron could launch into the rules of play, she interrupted, "Are you still rhyming, Derek?"

He cleared his throat, "No?" He waited a moment and when nothing further emerged from his mouth, he declared more firmly. "No. I'm good now."

She released a relieved breath and fished out the little vial of potion they had brought. "Here, drink this."

010101

Dick accepted the small glass bottle, popped the cork, and was immediately assaulted by a horrific smell. Bringing the vial closer to his nose, he confirmed that, yes, it was coming from the potion. Holding it up, the nauseating sludge slid along the glass like it was greased. "Do I want to know what is in this?"

"No." Harry emphatically replied. "I try not to ever think about it. Just plug your nose and try to swallow without tasting it."

Following the advice, Dick downed the vile stuff and wished for a glass of water. "So, how long will–" He was cut off by an unexpected burp.

"Excellent." Hermione clapped her hands together and looked pleased, "It should be working now."

Dick licked his lips and took careful inventory. He didn't feel any different, which was good.

He glanced at Tim who sat tense beside him. They'd discussed this last night and Tim was ready to jump in with an explanation if Dick said something he shouldn't, but no one should have any reason to ask something too awkward.

"Okay, first things first." It looked like Hermione would be his questioner. "What's your name?"

He almost opened his mouth and blurted out Dick Greyson, but managed to stop in time. He could feel Tim, muscles coiled up as if he was ready to spring from the chair beside him as he tried to remember what alias he was using. Richard – no, that wasn't it. Robin? He hadn't been called that in years. Nightwing? He certainly wasn't going to say that.

The three kids were all starting to frown before he finially managed to spit out "Derek Malone."

No one looked reassured, although Tim marginally relaxed.

"Why did you take so long to respond?" Harry asked, eyes narrowed.

Although he immediately thought of 'because I can't give you my real name', after only a brief pause, he was able to say instead, "I was testing out the potion." Which was true, after all.

There was an exchange of glances, but his answer seemed to be accepted. "Is that your brother?" Hermione pointed to Tim.

"Yes." Dick promptly replied. They might not have been related by blood, but they were family in all the ways that mattered.

The quick response seemed to please Hermione as she relaxed and smiled at him before continuing, "Are you working for Voldemort?"

"No."

"Do you know anyone who's working for him?"

"No."

Now Harry was looking visibly relieved.

"Are you a muggle?"

"Yes."

"Would you try to attack us for any reason?"

Dick's eyebrows shot up. "If you attacked us, I wouldn't just sit around and let you."

Hermione smiled again, not seeming to be disturbed by his lack of an unequivocal 'No'. "Let me rephrase that, would you attack us without provocation?"

"Not without a very good reason."

Harry interjected, "What kind of reason would be good?"

That was easy enough to answer, "If I found out you were planning on taking over the world, or planning to hurt my family or planning to kill a bunch of people, if you attacked an innocent bystander." The list could go on and on from there. There were a whole host of things that might force him into action, but they were obviously looking for reassurance that he wasn't planning anything devious, so he stopped at that.

They asked a few more questions – whether he knew anyone who was a Death Eater, whether he was related to any wizards or witches, whether he knew anyone with pureblood supremacy leanings (which he made a mental note to ask about later) and whether he was under an imperius spell (which they explained was a type of mind control) or polyjuiced (a form of magical disguise).

They'd just asked whether Dick had ever killed anyone before when a burp signaled the end of the interrogation.

It had gone much smoother than they'd hoped. Except for Dick's name, nothing in the semi-interrogation had touched on any of the numerous secrets Dick hid. He'd half expected someone to ask if he were hiding anything and had several silly answers prepared, but he hadn't had to use them. It was actually sort of disappointing that he'd worn pink boxers for no reason.

010101

Harry watched with some sympathy as Derek messaged his temples. "The headache will fade pretty fast."

Derek tilted his head back and dropped his hands, but kept his eyes closed. "While we're waiting, now that you know we're not the enemy here, why don't you start telling us a bit more about how you think this Voldemort guy can be stopped."

Harry nodded, despite the fact that Derek couldn't see the gesture. "He's made these artifacts that are keeping him immortal. Basically we need to find and destroy them."

Derek let out a thoughtful hum, "Alright, what do you know about these artifacts?"

"I've destroyed one; a book. The Headmaster at my old school destroyed another, which was a ring, and we found a third that someone else had destroyed that was a gold locket." He ran a hand through his hair, "Dumbledore – that's the Headmaster – thought Voldemort would have made four more. The locket was –"

"Wait, why would there only be four more?" Tommy interrupted.

Ron answered shortly, "Because he's superstitious. He seems to think seven is some mysterious, mystical, perfect number."

"Superstitious?" Derek asked, opening his eyes and peering at Ron in interest, "That's always a good weakness for an enemy to have." He grinned over to Tommy, who returned the smile with one of his own before snorting and looking away. Derek turned back to Ron, who was frowning again, "Sorry, private joke. We know some people who are extremely superstitious, that's all. Besides a fetish for the number seven, does Voldemort have any other weird obsessions?"

"Yeah," Ron answered in a tone of disgust, "He's obsessed with Harry over there and with Hogwarts. And snakes."

"Yes," Hermione jumped in, "The Dark Lord heard about a prophesy that said Harry could beat him and he takes that quite seriously. Harry already told you about all the times that monster tried to kill him. And Hogwarts… well, that's a bit less definitive. Professor Dumbledore thought that Voldemort wanted to be the heir of one of the school's legendary founders, Salzar Slytherin –"

This time Harry was the one to interrupt, "Actually, I think he might really be an heir."

Hermione brushed that aside, "Whether he is or not is irrelevant. He thinks he is, and that's what matters. Anyway, we think he's fixated on the founders of the school and used heirlooms passed down to their descendants as vessels for spells used to keep himself immortal. The one from Slytherin, the locket, has been destroyed, so that leaves the other three founders to research. We'd like your help finding these artifacts so we can destroy them." As she was speaking, Hermione rooted around in the bag at her feet and finally dug out the gigantic volume she'd shown Ron and Harry earlier in the week. Placing it on her lap, she patted it and continued, "This is our best guess on where we might find those artifacts."

She then paused to gauge Derek's reaction, but beyond a cursory glance at the thick tome, he gave no other reaction. While that was an improvement over the dismay Harry and Ron had shown, she still was a bit disappointed that he wasn't enthusiastically snatching the book and immediately producing results. It was completely silly of her, but for some reason, she seemed to have been harboring some hope that this muggle would be able to produce an instant miracle.

Stifling a sigh, she continued, "This book has all the genealogy records of all the wizards around here dating back to the time of the founders. I've marked the entries for Gryffindor and Ravenclaw and some descendants of Helga Hufflepuff should be in there somewhere too." She took a deep breath and slid the volume along the floor over to Dick's feet. "You said you're good at finding stuff. Well, we need you to find out who's descended from the founders and whether one of their descendants had a heirloom that went missing about twenty years ago."

Dick picked up the book and leafed through the first couple pages. Hermione was encouraged by his lack of reaction to the tiny print and short entries. "Obviously you can't figure out anything about heirlooms just in that book, but the best place to start would be to find out who might have had stuff in the first place."

Silently Dick closed the book and ran his fingers across the ancient leather. "Is this the only copy of this book?"

Hermione blinked but answered, "I don't think so. I'm pretty sure that the ministry has a copy. Or something like it." She looked at Ron to see if he knew, but he just looked blankly back at her. "Why?"

Derek shrugged, more of a lazy movement of one shoulder than a true shrug and replied, "I was just trying to find out how valuable this book was."

"What?" Ron's voice sputtered in disgust, "What does that have to do with anything? Were you planning on selling it or something?"

Derek patiently responded, "I was just checking to see how careful I needed to be with this thing. Some books are so old and rare that you are only allowed to touch them with gloves and read them in special lighting." He gestured at the book he'd placed back on the floor. "You haven't been treating it like it's especially valuable, but it looks hand bound and extremely old, so I thought I'd check."

Hermione flushed at the idea that she'd been treating a book with less care than it deserved. Although she'd been teased plenty of times for treating books more importance than they merited, no one had ever accused her of being careless with one before. "It's fine." She told Derek stiffly, "There's magic preserving the book."

Derek eyed her rigid form for a minute before asking, "So I can make copies and it won't hurt it?"

She gave him a slow blink, "Copies?"

"If I made a copy both Tommy and I could go over it at the same time."

Ron, Harry and Hermione all looked over at Tommy as if they'd forgotten he was there. He stared impassively back.

"Well…yes," Hermione slowly agreed then shook her head and pulled out her wand, "Here, I'll do it. This'll be quicker." With a flick of her wrist, a stack of paper appeared. She tapped the book and then the paper stack, reciting the spell that would copy over everything. She'd had plenty of practice with copying her notes for Ron and Harry, so the magic flew effortlessly and within seconds the new paper was filled with tiny script. "It won't self-update, of course, but I think that'll work for now."

"Thank you." Derek gravely replied and carefully lifted the stack of loose pages and handed them off to Tommy who gave his brother an irritated look as he accepted them.

Looking back up at her, Derek asked, "So is finding these artifacts and destroying them your top priority? What about tracking Voldemort down and containing him?"

Hermione bit her lip and looked over at Harry who answered, "We wouldn't be able to do much to Voldemort right now, even if we found him alone. He's too powerful." His mouth turned down into a scowl, "Obviously he needs to be stopped, but I'm not sure how to go about that yet. Finding these horcruxes – that's what those artifacts are called - is something I think we can actually do." He hesitated, "I'm still not sure he can be stopped by anything short of death and I _know_ he can't die while those things are still around."

Now Derek and Tommy were both frowning so Hermione jumped in, "There's a prophecy that says that either Voldemort dies or Harry does."

"Hermione!" Ron hissed, horrified, but she just lifted her chin defiantly. She hadn't given away anything that most of the wizarding world didn't already assume was true and it would save a whole lot of time if Derek and his brother would just accept the fact that this was a war, not just a theoretical exercise. They'd probably never been in anything more violent than a school-yard scuffle and wouldn't understand that real life, especially around Harry, was lived in frequent deadly peril. If it came down to a choice between Harry's life and the life of that monster, as she believed it would, she didn't want either of these muggles to try to argue that Harry should hesitate to do what he needed to do.

Derek didn't respond, just looked back and forth between her and Harry, expression one of contemplation. She couldn't tell if he'd accepted her point or not, but at length he inclined his head, "For now, let's focus on these – what did you call them? Horror-cruxes?"

"Horcruxes," Harry corrected, "And don't go mentioning that word aloud around anyone else. We don't want it getting back to Voldemort that we know he made them."

"No problem. You said the ones you'd found were a book, ring and locket. Describe them all for me."

Harry, the only one of them to have seen all three (well, two plus the fake locket) spent the next forty-five minutes answering a litany of detailed questions on everything from exact physical descriptions of each item to their history and significance to Voldemort. Hermione was rather impressed at how thorough Derek was being, although she wasn't sure how knowing that the ring's band was 'thicker than a quill but thinner than my pinky' or that the book's pages were a grayish white color would actually help them.

By the time Ron's stomach announced that it was closing in on lunch time, Hermione was ready to move on to a different discussion altogether.

As if reading her mind Harry pipped up, "Let's head home. We can talk about what we'll do next over some food."

Ron, never one to turn down a chance for a meal, stood immediately and headed for the door.

"Oh, wait!" Hermione pulled two short pieces of twine from her pocket. "Here, tie these around your wrists." She handed one of each of the Malone brothers. "I found the charm that lets muggles get past the whole muggle - repelling spell. You wouldn't be able to go near the house otherwise."

Derek and Tommy accepted the twine. Tommy twisted his around his wrist and Derek bent over and tied his around an ankle.

Despite the potion and several hours of talking with them, Hermione still felt a momentary pang of discomfort as they walked back to the floo and Harry told the Malones the address. It wasn't that she distrusted them, because she didn't, not really. But, still... they were letting strangers into something that was deeply personal. Their little three-person group, their secure headquarters, their very real danger.

She took a deep breath. Things would be different, but hopefully it would also be better.

A/N: Here are a few background notes that someone might find interesting about this chapter. First of all, I envisioned the potion that the twins splattered on Dick made people speak the complete opposite of their personalities. So the friend who 'only used swear words' was naturally a very polite and considerate person (which makes you wonder why he/she was around the twins, but that's another story). Dick, smart, articulate, and subtle, I felt would be perfect as the simplest rhyming style I could think of. (It didn't hurt that I can't write poetry to save my life, so I wasn't going to step out and try to make him speak in sonnets or anything.

**On the locket**... I know I'm not following cannon here. In the books, everyone assumes that the real locket is NOT destroyed and that Harry etc. have to find it. But when I first read the account in the Half-blood Prince, my first assumption was that whoever substituted the fake locket had taken and destroyed the real one, so I'm going with that thought here. I have yet to decide which version is actually true though, so don't take any assumptions here as truth until it's proven!

Sigh. I feel I should apologize again since this chapter didn't have much excitement in it. Mostly just a lot of talking. I do have plans for some action soon... although it might not be next chapter. They need a bit of planning first. Hopfully these stubborn characters will work with me though and something adrenaline-pumping will pop up. :-)

Finally, a huge(!) Thank you to those of you who reviewed. I know I missed replying to several (epic failure on my part), but I adore getting them. They are greatly motivating. So I hope you continue to read and enjoy!


	6. Oh So Typical

**A/N: Again, the reminder: **

Dick/Nightwing = Derek Malone

Tim/Robin = Tommy Malone

Also, This chapter was not Beta'd and I re-read it fewer times than I normally do before posting, so it may have some issues, which I take full blame for (feel free to point out errors so I can fix them).

**Chapter 6 – Oh So Typical**

Tim tossed his duffel on the twin bed closest to the window knowing that Dick would prefer being between him and the door. He didn't need Dick's overprotective Big Brother attitude, but it was sometimes better to give in gracefully on things like that rather than kick up a fuss. It wasn't like it really mattered.

"The washroom is through there," Ron, who'd followed them into the room pointed to the door across the hall. Rather needlessly since all three of them had given Dick and Tim a brief tour right after they'd arrived. Then Harry had left them to start dinner and Hermione had disappeared without telling them what she was up to, but Ron seemed to feel that it was his duty to hover and make sure that they were behaving themselves. Or to make sure that they weren't eaten by the house. Tim wasn't sure which.

The house, in Tim's opinion, was dank and dark and oozed a resentful menace. Things moved that shouldn't (the banister had actually leaned away from his hand as he'd climbed the stairs), rooms were impossibly proportioned (the bedroom he and Dick were sharing should have been the size of a small hall closet if the walls from the outside were any indication), and you couldn't trust stuff to actually be what it looked like it should be (apparently the mirror in the ground-floor bathroom was something called 'A Quicksilver Tablet' and was poisonous to touch). Wonderful. Their stay would be absolutely thrilling. It always made a trip memorable to wonder if the toilet was about to bite off something vital while you used it. When Hermione had warned them away from the third cupboard in as many minutes, Tim had felt s sudden sympathy with Bruce's attitude towards magic. It was far more trouble than it was worth.

Dick had wandered over to the dusty window and wiped a sleeve through the grime to peer out. "Street out front." He commented, letting Tim know that the view didn't match the orientation of the room which, if it had been following the laws of physics, really shouldn't have had a window at all since this room should have bumped up against the wall of the neighboring house, but that was par for the course with this place.

He did have to wonder though what would happen if they tried to leave the room via window. Would they end up in the little front stoop or someplace else altogether?

Dick must have been reading his mind because he unlatched the window and tried to slide it up. Tried being the operative word because it didn't budge.

"What are you doing?" Ron's disapproving voice asked.

Ignoring his tone, Dick dryly commented. "It's a bit stuffy in here, don't you think?"

Ron raised the wand he'd been fingering the entire trip through the house and despite having his back to the red-head, Dick immediately stepped to one side. With a flick of the wizard's wrist, the window sprung open and a gentle breeze blew in, followed by a cloud of dust off the gray curtains.

Tim sneezed.

Dick continued to eye the window. He stuck one hand out and wiggled it around. "Can anyone see this out the front?"

Ron rolled his eyes, "Of course not. Our house is hidden. By magic. Remember?"

That hadn't been what Dick meant, but he let it go. He tried to slide the window down again, but it wouldn't budge.

"You need to use a wand to get it to open and shut." Ron informed him, "This was probably a child's room at some point and it's pretty standard to make sure that kids can't open the windows on their own."

That might be a problem.

"Is there something you can do to let us do it ourselves?" Tim spoke up, "It'll be pretty inconvenient to always be asking one of you to open and shut the window."

Ron shrugged, "I'll ask Hermione. There's probably something." He glanced one last time between his guests and wandered out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Dick waited a beat then tried the door, assuring them that they hadn't been locked in.

Alone for the first time since that morning, Tim and Dick exchanged looks. They were fairly confident that they weren't going to be eavesdropped on. There really wasn't any reason for their hosts to do so, but caution was far to ingrained for them to chance it. Until they were in a more secure location, there would be no more audible discussions that would break their characters of 'normal' people.

But that didn't mean they wouldn't be communicating at all.

Tim pointed to the window and raised an eyebrow, asking whether Dick thought they could use that exit.

Dick frowned and signed 'Caution' back to him. Then continued a rapid series of further signs that their little clan had developed for silent communication, similar but not quite the same as either American or British sign language. 'Emergency only. Front door walking. Soon. No roofs.'

Which had been what he'd expected, but it was still not what he'd wanted to hear. Dick continued, 'Contact Oracle tomorrow. Watch/survey/spy now'.

Tim sighed. It wasn't nearly as much fun to try to keep an eye on people without cameras and microphones. Especially when the house was practically booby-trapped. Oh well. Maybe he'd find something creative that'd be useful as a weapon. If Harry was telling the truth about how hard Voldemort was looking for him, there was a better than good chance that murderer would show up at some point after all and preparedness wasn't just for boy scouts.

01010101010

Dinner had been a simple affair, but Harry was still rather pleased with the results. Bangers and mash with pumpkin juice and peanut butter biscuits for dessert. Not bad. The way Derek and Tommy had eyed the juice had been rather amusing too.

The conversation had been a bit stilted at first, but once they'd moved onto Horcruxes, the pace had picked up.

"So, we have a ring, a locket and a diary. What do they have in common? Two are gold, two are Riddle's lawful possessions, two are jewelry, two are worn..."

Tommy continued Derek's list, "Two can hold things, two were hidden with no one besides Voldemort knowing where, two were guarded is powerful magic..."

Harry tossed down his fork, "There isn't anything that all three of them have in common besides what Riddle used them for! I don't think we can look for any of the other Horcruxes based on what the ones we found were like. We'll just have to figure out the general vicinity and then try to find the most evil thing in the area." He crossed his arms.

Hermione twisted her fork around and said slowly. "I don't know... The diary is really the different one, don't you think? Didn't Dumbledore think it was made first? Maybe it was just a trial run."

"It would make sense if it was," Tommy interjected, "A book is a pretty flimsy thing to make into one of the cornerstones of a person's immorality. It's easily destroyed and isn't exactly valuable. Usually people who are arrogant enough to try something like this go for the really impressive things. The gold jewelry sounds more in keeping with the kind of man Voldemort sounds like he is."

Raising an eyebrow, Ron asked archly, "And you have so much experience with these kinds of people, huh?"

"No, wait, Ron, that's a fair assessment." Hermione said, "Everything about You-Know- I mean, Voldemort, screams vanity – at least when it comes to power. He's the kind of person who would think that his Horcruxes should be the most valuable antiques he could get his claws on. If we don't look at the diary, then maybe the other two might be giving us a clue for what to look for."

Harry's forehead wrinkled a bit, "So maybe we should be looking for some more gold jewelry? That's not actually too helpful. It doesn't narrow down our search at all!"

Swallowing a last bite of potato, Dick added, "That might be true, but perhaps there is one thing about the Diary that perhaps he did again – or at least it might be worth looking into. You said he entrusted the book to one of his followers, right?"

Harry nodded, "Lucious Malfoy. But I don't think he knew what he had."

"Well is Malfoy his most trusted man? Is there anyone else like that among his followers?"

Harry felt his stomach clench as he hissed out, "Snape!" The bastard had probably always been Voldemort's most trusted man. That snake had burrowed so deeply into Dumbledore's confidences that the betrayal had probably followed the Headmaster into the after-life. If Harry ever had the chance, he'd happily see the man buried along-side Belletrix and Tom Riddle. They all deserved to spend eternity together.

And Wormtail, he mentally added. That rat was somehow easily forgotten among the more glaringly active members of Voldemort's circle, but he deserved his own corner of hell along with the others.

"Snape?" Derek asked, breaking Harry out of his dark thoughts.

Ron happily filled the two muggles in on his most detested professor's deeds, spending perhaps an inordinate length of time describing the man's greasy hair and poor hygiene.

It took the remainder of the meal and the quick wash-up time before he ran down. Afterward, they trooped over to the drawing room and Derek returned the conversation to its previous position. "Do you think Voldemort could have given Snape one of his horcruxes?"

Harry, settling down into the same armchair he'd claimed after his chat with McGonagall only a few days ago replied, "It's possible. I think he could have."

"I don't think he could have smuggled one into Hogwarts." Hermione disagreed.

"Well the diary got in. Why not something else?"

"But the diary never came close to any adults. I don't think Dumbledore would have missed it if he'd seen it or been near it. Snape's been teaching at Hogwarts for a decade or so. I just don't think he could have hidden something like that in his rooms and expected to get away with it."

"He could have stuffed something in some other part of the castle."

"And made it that much more likely that someone would have stumbled over it! I don't think he'd be that careless."

As much as he wanted to disagree, Hermione did have a point. He didn't think that something with that much dark magic attached to it could have been stashed under a rug or something. Snape was far too clever to risk Dumbledore or anyone else just accidentally finding something like that.

Derek asked, "Did he have family or close friends he might have given something important to to keep safe for him?"

"Snape?" Ron snorted, "Not hardly. The slimy cretin wouldn't know a friendship if it bit him on his ugly nose. And I doubt anyone would claim him as family even if they existed."

Derek frowned, but whether at Ron's description or at the situation, Harry didn't know.

"Did Snape live at the school?"

Harry opened his mouth and paused. He hadn't really thought about it before. The school teachers all seemed to live at the school. He certainly couldn't picture them with homes somewhere else, but now that Derek had brought it up, it was possible, very possible, that Snape owned some other property somewhere else.

As with any other situation where he didn't know the answer to some random piece of information, he looked to Hermione, who looked flustered.

"I don't – I didn't look up the teachers' private lives!" She looked as if she'd just failed to answer a professor's question correctly.

"But you can find out, right?" Ron rushed to reassure her, "Or we can ask McGonagall. She'd know."

Hermione's expression smoothed out, "Yeah, we'll just ask her and -"

"Wait!" Harry held up his hands, "Let's not involve her if we can help it. We already talked about this. Can you just look it up? See if Snape owns some property somewhere?"

She hesitated, "Well, there's probably some records at the ministry for tax purposes, but I don't think they'd just let us browse through them."

"In Gotham property records like that are publicly accessible," Derek put in, "you can just look them up on-line. Is there anything like that here?"

Ron gave him a blank look, but Hermione readily answered, "No. And I don't think your government is anything like ours. The ministry is too close-fisted to let information like that out to just anyone. We'd probably have to go talk to the right official and fill out a ton of paperwork and practically give a pint of blood just to see records." Her tone turned a bit bitter towards the end and Harry could sympathize. The ministry seemed to actively work against them more often than not. He was still extremely aggravated with how Fudge and Umbridge and the entire Ministry had denied Voldemort's return the last few years. Even with Fudge officially removed from office, the next set of politicians didn't seem any better. And that didn't even address the Ministry's completely convoluted bureaucracy.

He could just imagine the problems that would arise if any of them showed up and politely asked to see some property records. If they weren't laughed out of the building, they'd probably be mobbed with reporters or stunned and shuffled off into 'protective custody' until good ol' Voldemort to stopped by to collect. Ugh. "Is there anyone else we can ask? What about your dad, Ron? Would he know?"

Ron rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I don't rightly know. I don't think my dad had much to do with Snape, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt to ask." He glanced around the room for a clock before swishing his wand. The set of glowing numbers that briefly displayed showed that the evening was still young enough that he could fire-call his parents without waking them up.

He stood up and walked over to the fire-place, then hesitated. Turning back to the Malone brothers, he gave them a semi-apologetic look, "I think you'll have to leave the room for this. My dad's kind of the curious type and if he sees you here, he'll ask some questions and if he finds out you're muggles, we'll never get him to focus on Snape!" One side of his mouth crooked up in a fond grin, "He's a bit obsessed with muggle gadgets."

Derek snorted a laugh and stood up, Tommy following his lead and they obediently left the room.

01010101010

Tim pressed his ear against the door after it was closed, shamelessly attempting to eavesdrop. He waited a few heartbeats, but he couldn't hear anything and pulled back, frowning. "I think it's sound-proof."

Dick made a thoughtful noise, but moved down the hall a bit and tried a wall instead of the door. Trying to hear anything through a wall was ten times harder than through a door and when he pulled back almost after just a few seconds, Tim figured Dick had had just as much success as he'd had.

He really wished his various recording devices worked in this house. It wasn't like he thought the conversation was going to be anything but predictable, or that Ron wouldn't relate it when asked, but he hated not being able to listen in when he wanted.

He wondered if he was getting spoiled by usually having instant access to nearly any kind of information he wanted. Trying to tell himself that patience was a virtue didn't help.

"Any thoughts on how we could get some surveillance on this Snape guy if we could find someplace to watch?" Came Dick's low voice. He too must have found their lack of ability to monitor their allies frustrating.

Tim grinned at him feeling a touch smug, "Actually, yes." He'd been thinking about that since they'd figured out that their electronics didn't work around magic and his wandering around the house earlier had given him a few ideas. It wouldn't work for keeping track of anyone inside this house, but it might work elsewhere.

Dick raised an eyebrow, "Care to share with the class?"

Tim folded his arms, leaned up against one of the walls and started to explain.

01010101010

Ron spun a privacy spell over the room and turned to the fireplace. Grabbing some floo powder, he called out, "The Burrow," and stuck his head into the green flames.

The familiar parlor with its well-loved brick-a-brack and often-mended furniture came into view. "Hello?" He called out, hoping someone was home.

His mum's head popped around the doorway to the kitchen, "Ron!" She bustled over, wiping flour off her hands as she came, "Ron, come on through. There are fresh scones baking and they should be done in just a few minutes."

Even though he'd just had dinner, his mouth watered. He mother made the world's best scones. He somehow conjured up enough will-power to resist. It helped that smell wasn't something that transferred through a floo connection, "Mum, I was just calling because I needed to ask Dad a few questions. Is he around?"

"Oh, honey, your dad's still at work. They cut his department again and he's having to do all the extra work himself." She looked across the room at the family clock and Ron saw his father's name firmly pointing to 'At work'. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Ron hesitated. He was reluctant to involve his mother in any way. She tended to worry and if she thought he was doing 'Order work', she'd probably get teary and hysterical and he really didn't want to have to try to calm her down. On the other hand, she always had been the more friendly of his parents with all the Order members. She might actually know what he wanted. "Umm…" He took a deep breath and braced himself for the reaction, "I was just wondering if you might know if Snape, I mean professor Snape, owned a house or something somewhere." He cringed at how forced his question sounded. He need to work on sounding casual when he was tense, apparently.

His mum scowled, "That horrible man! I can't believe we let him in this house. And I gave him a pan of my best fudge not two weeks before he went and- and- " Her face started to crumple and Ron felt panic start to bubble up.

"Mum! It's fine. No one knew. He was just that good at deceiving everyone. I mean, even Dumbledore was fooled."

That was probably the wrong thing to say as her face fell even farther. "Dumbledore was such a good man. Always seeing the best in everyone. Did you know I would have failed my transfiguration class in fifth year if it hadn't been for him?"

"Yes mum, I know." He hastily cut her off before she could tell the story of how the Headmaster had given her a hint on how to visualize turning a shrew into a fountain. Did he want to see if he could get her back on topic or would that just make things worse? He decided to try a less direct approach, "It's just that we were talking. Harry and Hermione and I, I mean. About Hogwarts." He cleared his throat, "Well, we've got one more year to go and all." His mother was no longer looking like she was going to burst into tears so he plowed forward. "And Hogwarts, well, it'd be – I mean, we'd feel safer, if we knew that's not where Professor Snape really lived. We thought it'd make everyone feel more comfortable next year if we knew that he had a house somewhere else and wasn't going to try to get back in the castle for his stuff, you know?"

He held his breath, but his mum was nodding, nearly beaming at him, "Oh, Ron, how thoughtful of you! You can reassure all those new first years that they've got nothing to worry about. Severus inherited something from his mother, I believe. Now, I'm sure the aurors have the place under surveillance, so he's probably not there, but just knowing he has somewhere else to live will probably make everyone feel so much safer, so be sure not to tell them that he's not likely to be there."

Ron nodded fervently. He wasn't going to be telling little first years anything of the sort. "Thanks Mum."

"Oh, of course, Ron. Any time." She glanced towards the kitchen. "Those scones are done. Are you sure you wouldn't like a few? You could take some back to your little friends."

Feeling a bit like he was twelve again, Ron muttered, "No, thanks. I better get back. Lots of studying and stuff to do."

"Okay. I'll let your father know you called." She gave him such a proud look at he felt like squirming. It wasn't his fault that his parents thought he was still a little kid and that he couldn't tell them what he was really up to, but at times like these, he really wished they were proud of him for the right reasons. With a sigh, he bid her good-bye and pulled his head from the flames.

He sat back on his heels as the fire turned back to its cheerful orange-ish color. Turning his head, he saw that Hermione was watching him with a sympathetic look while Harry was staring off into a corner pretending that he hadn't heard any part of the conversation.

Sighing again, he announced, "Well, at least now we know Snape has a house somewhere."

Harry turned back to him, a gleam in his eyes, "Yep. Now we just need to find it."

01010101010

Dick ran his hands through his hair, letting it fall back into place as he double-checked that his gear was properly concealed. He wore full body armor under his loose clothing, similar to his normal costume, but without the identifying emblems. It wouldn't be a disaster if anyone associated 'Derek and Tommy Malone' with Nightwing and Robin, but there'd been no need to invite trouble, so while they remained under cover, neither of them wore anything blatantly 'bat'. Their weapons and gear were unchanged, since both of them fought their best with their usual equipment, but most of that was pretty generic anyway (despite the rest of the superhero community's insistence on naming everything they used with a 'bat' prefix). In any case, the baggy clothing hid everything nicely and unless there was trouble, Harry and his friends weren't ever likely to see any of it anyway.

It was well past sunrise, but Tim was still a curled up lump on his bed, breathing deeply. He'd let the kid sleep in a bit more. It had been an early night but it wasn't like he'd be doing anything that needed back-up that morning.

After Ron had explained that his mom had confirmed that Snape owned some sort of property, they'd talked about how they'd best go about finding it. They'd kept circling back to the fact that the Ministry kept track of all those kinds of things, but they couldn't decide what to do about it. Hermione wanted to talk to talk to someone that worked in the ministry, but Harry kept vetoing that idea, not wanting to involve anyone else. He wanted to sneak into the Ministry and simply steal the info, but both Hermione and Ron thought that was a bad idea. Dick had volunteered himself and Tim to do it, but all three of the others had thought that was a bad idea and he'd let it go. For now.

Finding a pen in a pocket of his duffel bag, Dick flipped over the first page of the unbound 'book' Hermione had copied for him. He scribbled a few instructions for Oracle, telling her to search for the modern descendants of the four people they were interested in. He asked for a list of their names and any other information she could find on them. If there had been any sort of information about those descendants in the last few decades, especially suspicious deaths, it would be helpful to know, but Dick didn't have high hopes that she'd be able to find anything. From all appearances, news from the magical community wouldn't likely make it into the 'normal' news archives. It didn't hurt to ask though. Babs would just scan the book into a database and let the computer run a search. It'd be far quicker than sitting down with a pen and paper and trying to map out the genealogies manually.

As an afterthought, he added a note that the papers he was sending her were duplicates so she didn't have to worry about ruining them if she needed to for some reason.

Leaving it unsigned, he slid the page back on top of the stack, re-tied the bundle, and carefully hefted the whole thing up.

Moving with purpose and a stride more confident than furtive (and thus less likely to be noticed), Dick walked out of his and Tim's new room, down the stairway and out the door into the chilly London street.

He glanced around at the handful of people around and picked a direction at random. He wasn't sure how far out from the house the aura of magic would extend and he needed to make a few phone calls, so he walked a few blocks before digging out his cell phone.

He punched in the number and only waited a single ring before a generic answering message started up. Not waiting for the recorded voice to finish, Dick spoke, "Hey babe!"

"Line secure." Came the immediate response, the monotone recording clicking off. Dick grinned. It had only been a few days since he's spoken to Babs, but it was always good to hear her. Even if the voice was a digital mask made to hide any hint of her true speech patterns. If he'd been in a safe location he would have echoed her greeting and she would have removed the distortion, but he wouldn't risk it while out on the street. He'd probably picked up a bit too much of Bruce's rampant paranoia, but it never hurt to be cautious.

"I got a present for you."

"Delivery?"

"A pick-up. And have pizza ready for the delivery boy."

"Ah." Even with the distortion Dick could hear the amusement coming down the line, "Bribery on B's tab, huh?"

"Yep."

Oracle's voice fell back into business tones, "Trouble?"

"Nope." Dick assured her then asked, "Got me yet?" and was reassured to hear Oracle confirm that she'd tracked his phone down and had his location mapped out. He lowered his voice, "One hundred feet east along the street. It's out of phase so you won't be able to get an exact lock." He looked back towards the house he'd left, but couldn't see it from there. He couldn't tell Oracle the address where he and Tim were at, but he could give a close enough point that if they suddenly disappeared Batman would have a good idea of where to start looking for them.

"Location entered."

There was a pause while Barbara waited to see if Dick had anything else for her and Dick did a mental check to see if anything struck him. Nothing did, so he bid her farewell. After hanging up, he didn't immediately put the phone away, but looked down at it for a moment then dialed a second number

"Hello?" A muffled voice answered.

"Hey, it's me. Can you pry yourself away from that burger long enough to talk?"

"Hey!" There was an audible swallowing sound before the voice continued in a bright tone, "That wasn't a burger, I'll have you know Bat-boy, it was a Golden Deluxe Extra-Crispy Chicken sandwich." Wally, otherwise known as The Flash, had been a speedster since he had an accident as a teenager and had been one of Dick's best friends nearly as long. They had a running joke that Dick would be able to predict exactly what he was eating just from a 'hello' over the phone. He hadn't gotten it right this time, but he had a surprisingly high number of correct guesses. Wally claimed it was some freaky mutant Bat-superpower.

Something else, probably a handful of fries started crunching in his ear, "What's happening? Weren't you supposed to go see grim-and-grumpy last weekend? How did that go?"

Dick tried not to roll his eyes. Sometime Wally forgot that he wasn't always on a completely secure line and thus wasn't able to gossip about what Batman was up to. "Actually, I can't really talk right now."

A short, nearly unnoticeable pause before the voice broke back in, more serious, "You need a hand? Where are you?"

"Just a delivery. I was hoping you could get something to O for me. I'm in London."

"Yeah?" There was a brief static-sounding noise crackle, "What a coincidence, so am I."

Dick grinned. "Imagine that. Wait a few minutes and then there'll be a package on the corner of…" He looked at the sign posts nearby, "Stillwell and Parkway South."

"Sure." There was more of the wooshing crackling noises as Dick hung up. Wally was probably super-speeding all over town trying to figure out where the corner was. Hopefully he'd wait until Dick was actually gone before he stopped at the correct spot.

The ground wasn't wet, so he simply dropped the pile of papers at the base of the street sign and put a fist sized rock on top to make sure nothing blew away.

He began the short trek back to their hidden house. He had been thinking about what they'd talked about over dinner last night and had a few ideas of what they –

What...? Head swiveling, Dick's feet slowed. He thought he'd heard –

There!

Without any hesitation, Dick abandoned his plans to return to the house and rushed into the slim alley between two of the houses.

01010101

Harry wandered through the library, hands skimming over the spines of books as he went. Despite the fact that they were setting things in motion, he was frustrated. They didn't seem to be _doing_ anything. Or rather, he wasn't. He hated the research, the inaction, the restlessness. They hadn't been _doing_ anything, just waiting for one thing or another since the school year ended and even now that they had some plan, there'd be yet more waiting before anything would come of it.

He paced along the shelf now, ignoring the books completely.

He was getting antsy. He didn't want to just sit on his butt and wait for the Malones to pull an answer out of the air.

They'd talked a bit more once they'd shown their new friends around a bit. Hermione had spouted an endless list of cautionary rules at them. 'Don't touch that cabinet there, don't open that cupboard there, don't whistle in the loo, don't get too close to that mirror…' It'd been nearly impossible to get a word in edgewise around that, but Harry supposed it had been important. He didn't really think that just because they were muggles that Derek and Tommy would do something as idiotic as to stuff their fist in a growling cupboard door… but it was probably better safe than sorry.

He shook his head and made another circuit around the room. They hadn't made any real plans yet. Just plans to make plans, really. It was frustrating and he was starting to feel like they were running out of time.

He needed to _do _something.He needed…

He needed to go out flying.

He hadn't been on a broom in months and that always relaxed him. And as long as he stayed in the yard, he'd be inside the Fildelius charm's protection. Maybe he'd find something he could drop and dive after and pretend he was chasing a snitch for a bit.

Leaving the library, he jogged up to his room and grabbed his broom and invisibility cloak and headed out. He tried diving into the little yard behind the house, but the cramped quarters made it less fun than he would have liked. So instead he flew up and started making circles above the house, starting out tight and controlled and slowly loosening up into lazy drifting.

He'd slowed to a near stand-still, form casually sprawled over the length of the broom, watching London glitter in the sunlight when he noticed movement below.

Harry sat up, frowning as he saw Derek nonchalantly stroll out the door and head down the street looking as if he'd decided to take a morning walk, his movements casual and his path almost meandering.

Harry's jaw clenched. What could have possessed the man to do something stupid like that? He knew Ron and Hermione and he hadn't had the chance to really demonstrate how nasty a few of the more legal curses could get and then emphasize how much nastier the illegal ones were, but he still thought they'd done an adequate job of letting the man know they were serious about it being dangerous to leave the house. What did he think he was doing?

Without a thought for the wards or telling either of his friends where he was going, he twisted the broom around to follow Derek from several stories up as the man moved at a sedate pace down the block.

The angle was wrong and so he didn't immediately notice, but when he did, Harry felt a frozen fist clench around his gut. Derek was carrying that magically created copy of the book Hermione had found. Harry could think of several reasons Derek might be carrying that out of the house – several of them moronic and none of them good.

Derek walked with a loose limbed gait, unhurried and unconcerned. He nodded with every evidence of politeness at a sweaty muggle in a jogging outfit as he passed by. The muggle on the other hand took one look at Derek's tattoos and outfit and picked up his pace, keeping his eyes averted. Harry might have thought that amusing in other circumstances.

Secure under his invisibility cloak, Harry rose a bit higher and did a rapid sweep around the block looking to see if he could spot anyone Derek might be going to meet. He saw several motorists and a handful of people walking, but no one obvious, so he swooped back down and closed in on Derek, who had stopped walking and was leaning up against a lamp post, papers held securely under one arm.

With a curse, Harry realized that Derek was speaking on a tiny cell phone held up to one ear. He had forgotten that something like that was even possible. He hurriedly cast a spell to enhance his hearing and drifted a bit closer in order to eavesdrop easier.

"-pizza ready for the delivery boy."

Harry's brow wrinkled. Derek had left the house to order pizza?

There was a crackly noise that could have been a response from the phone, but even with the spell on Harry's ear, he couldn't quite make out any words.

"Yep," Derek agreed with whatever question had been asked and then after a pause replied, "Nope. Got me yet?" He glanced back the way he'd come, incidentally gazing right through Harry's invisible form, "One hundred feet east along the street. It's out of phase so you won't be able to get an exact lock."

Harry felt his teeth start to grind and he made a conscious effort to relax his jaw. It sounded like Derek had just told someone where to find Grimauld Place. And it didn't sound like a Pizza delivery joint either. What game was he playing at?

His mind flashed over the questions they'd asked Derek the day before. Having experienced the truth potion first hand, he didn't think Derek would have been able to outright lie and the answers he'd given had been straight forward. Was there some universal anti-truth-potion substance Derek could have taken beforehand to negate their truth serum? Something the Dark Lord had come up with recently?

It seemed unlikely, even with a Potion Master helping him. And it was only that uncertainty (and an undeniable curiosity to see what Derek was planning) that kept a stunning spell from knocking the man out cold.

The conversation on the phone had apparently ended as Derek had lowered the phone and was now running his fingers over the side in thought. After a moment Harry saw him dial a number and raise the phone again. "Hey, it's me. Can you pry yourself away from that burger long enough to talk?"

Whatever the response was caused a huge grin to split Derek's face. "Actually, I can't really talk right now," he continued, contradicting his earlier question. "Just a delivery. I was hoping you could get something to O for me. I'm in London."

The hope that he was misunderstanding the whole situation withered and he fingered his wand. It seemed Derek was playing two sides. Who was 'O'? He wasn't familiar with that name and he couldn't think of anyone it might apply to off the top of his head. None of Voldemort's top minions had that letter as an initial, although that didn't really mean much.

"Imagine that. Wait a few minutes and then there'll be a package on the corner of…" He looked around and focused in on the nearby street sign, "Stillwell and Parkway South." Without saying good-bye, he hung up, walked over to the street sign and gently placed the stack of papers down.

Eyes narrowed and hand clenched tightly around his wand, Harry watched as Derek walked away. He hovered for a moment between the papers and Derek's retreating form. Derek was obviously leaving the copied book for someone to come pick up and was intending to go back to Grimauld Place and continue pretending to help them out while spying on them.

He remained to hovering, eyes on Derek's back as he debated what to do. He should probably just stun the man and get Ron and Hermione out of the no-longer-safe house, but perhaps seeing if he recognized whoever came for the papers was more important. If Derek was a spying on them, it wasn't likely that he'd do anything overt immediately. If he'd wanted to kill them, there'd been several chances already.

Mind made up, he turn back to the papers only to blink in surprise. They were gone! His eyes darted all around, but the papers didn't magically re-appear and nobody was anywhere close to the corner. Had someone apparated in while his attention was on Derek? He hadn't heard the crack of apparation, and with his enhanced hearing, it would have been hard to miss, but what else could have happened?

He twisted back around just in time to see Derek sprinting around a corner. The cold fist in his chest tightened. What was going on?

Without a thought, Harry's broom whipped around and shot off in pursuit.

A/N: A cliff-hanger! My very first! (pats fic lovingly). And a misunderstanding too! Well, I figure that every team-up has to have a few miss-communications now and again, right? Of course, whether Dick gets a chance to explain before he ends up unconscious and kicked out of the house does remain in question… Harry is one un-happy wizard after all. :-)

A review or two would be much appreciated, but since I'm writing this because I enjoy it, I won't beg them from you. Just rest assured that I do very much love to hear that someone else liked the story.


	7. A Confrontation Begins

A/N: Reminder: Dick = Derek Malone, Tim = Tommy Malone

Chapter 7

Despite Derek's lead, Harry's speed on his Firebolt allowed him to reach the alley almost immediately after the man had vanished from sight.

Just inside that alley; however, Harry's flight came to an abrupt halt, the nose of the broom riding upward as he reversed his momentum, nearly aligning himself vertically before leveling out. There were Death Eaters in that alley. Death Eaters with a victim, no less.

Half way down the length of the narrow road, partially hidden by a brown garbage skip, three black robed wizards huddled around another man. The nearest, with hood obscuring his face, wand in one hand and bloody knuckles on the other, hovered over a middle-aged man in a pair of bright red track pants who lay sprawled at his feet. The second wizard, the only one with the familiar white mask on, stood with his massive gut jiggling as he chortled, his wand leveled at the man on the ground. He periodically sent out tiny zapping bolts of power that looked like they might have been related to the stinging hex, if the way the jogger twitched and whimpered was any indication. The third wizard, hood thrown back and a nasty sneer on his face, glared contemptuously at his companions from several feet away. "-time for this. We're supposed to be watching-"

At this point, Harry, who'd been too focused on the Death Eaters to watch what Derek had been doing, realized that the other man hadn't stopped at the alley mouth like he had, but had rushed full tilt down the narrow passage. Harry's brought his wand to bear, but wavered between the Death Eaters and the sprinting muggle. He had only moments to make a decision and while normally making nearly instant choices was one of the things he excelled at, here there were so many variables rushing through his head that he hesistated. There was the innocent muggle being played with, the uncertainty about who the Malones were working for, the fact that he was still invisible which was an advantage he's lose the instant he shot a spell, the fact that there might still be information to be gained… So he held his fire and instead cautiously floated closer.

Oblivious to Harry's wand at his back, Derek reached the garbage bin separating him from the Death Eaters. Harry expected him to slow down or swerve around it, so he was a surprised to see the man effortlessly vault upward. The top of the skip was level, but open, lid either missing or flipped around behind it and trapped against the wall. It didn't deter Derek who simply alighted on the rim and then bounced over the open space to balance on the other edge.

The Death Eater with the massive girth, jerked back in shock at the sudden appearance of the jeans-clad man crouching on the lip of the metal skip. "Wha-?"

The Sneering Wizard straightened up, losing the contemptuous expression, hand diving into his robe.

"Now this doesn't seem fair." Derek chided the wizards, "Three to one? What'd he do? Insult your fashion sense?"

The first wizard, whose back had been to Derek and Harry finally realized something was going on and spun around. Harry didn't recognize the dark skinned man any more than he'd recognized the other two, but with a pink scar running down his cheek and over his chin, his face would be quite memorable for the future.

Sneering-wizard had finally found his wand and, rather than answer Derek, he shot out a vicious curse. Harry sucked in his breath, somehow unprepared for the hostility and knowing he'd be too late with a shield. He was too far away.

As if he'd been crouching on springs, Derek shot upwards and the curse that would have liquefied his bones if it had hit passed safely beneath him.

Without a thought, Harry's broom leaped forward. There would be no information here and it was apparent that whatever group Derek was with wasn't one that worked for Voldemort. Which meant that Harry had three Death Eaters to stop and two helpless muggles to defend and very little time to do that in. Stealth was no longer an option.

"Stupify!" His spell raced towards Sneering-wizard, but his cry must have been heard because the man raised a shield before it could reach him and the spell deflected harmlessly off.

The Death Eater with the scar opened his mouth, "There's two of-" but didn't manage to finish his sentence before Derek, now descending from his rather spectacular leap, flashed one foot out and caught him square in the jaw.

From Harry's elevated angle, he had a lovely view of the blood and spittle spraying from the Death Eaters mouth as his head snapped around, body twisting to follow, and ending abruptly with a collision with the brick wall and a slow slide to the ground. Derek landed back on the rubbish skip on a single foot and didn't even appear to re-balance himself before launching off again, this time backwards instead of up, flipping in mid-air and ending up in another crouch back at the other end of the skip.

Despite himself, Harry felt his eyebrows soar. That had been some…interesting footwork.

But his distraction had cost him. The wizard he'd tried to stun had dropped his shield and had whipped up a blast of wind causing Harry's broom to buck and roll. He held on and quickly wrested his broom back into submission, but the gust caught at his cloak and the hood flipped over, revealing his head.

"It's Potter!" The no-longer-sneering wizard exclaimed, and followed up with a bright yellow spell that blazed outwards into a net that filled the width of the alley. Rather than try to dodge or put up a shield, Harry spit out a cutting curse which sliced through the spell, dissipating it before continuing on to the Death Eater beyond. The man almost didn't dodge in time and received a shallow slice across his left upper arm as he twisted out of the away. At the same time, Derek flung something that looked like a rock or a dark piece of glass at the man which caught him on his wand hand. The wizard gasped and his hand spasmed, dropping his wand. Harry immediately summoned it. The Death Eater tried to grab it as it flew passed him, but missed and Harry felt an immense sense of relief as it soared into his own hand.

The fat wizard who'd apparently just been gaping at everyone from behind his mask finally began to get into the action and shot some sort of purple spell out at Derek. Instead of leaping over this spell, Derek scooted backwards, dropping down to the ground next to the skip as the spell passed overhead. The follow-up spell hit the metal garbage bin and at first Harry thought the spell had missed, but then the metal fractured as if it had grown a million small splinters which radiated out in a spiny array. About to cast another stunner, Harry changed the motion threw a strong shielding spell around the skip instead, just in time to contain an explosion that would have shredded the humans close by.

The muffled blast seemed to jolt the forgotten jogger who scrambled up and bolted for the street at the far end of the alley with all the desperation of a terrified rabbit. No one paid him the slightest mind.

Derek tossed something else at the Fat wizard, but it bounced off the shield he'd raised earlier to protect himself from the exploding skip.

"Get my wand back!" The wizard that Harry had disarmed screamed at his companion, who ignored him.

Seeming to decide that Harry was the larger threat, he fat wizard's next spell was lobbed up into the air. Again it was something purple and Harry didn't hear the name of the spell, so he cast a shield. Unfortunately, whatever it was, the shielding spell seemed ineffective against because Harry started falling. Sideways. Or perhaps it was the walls had curved sideways and he was falling up.

He shifted and jerked and felt his legs slide off the broom as he tried to right himself.

Then there was another explosion, louder than the first, accompanied by a blinding flash of light and Harry found he could tell which direction was up once again. He re-oriented himself and straightened, finding his balance with ease now that the spell had lifted.

Below him, both Death Eaters had their hands in front of their eyes as if they'd had something splashed in them. The disarmed wizard staggered against the wall and fell on top of the wizard Derek had kicked unconscious earlier. Or at least, that's what it looked like until both of them vanished. He mush have decided to activate a portakey instead of waiting for his friend to finish Harry off and took his unconscious companion with him.

"Stupify!" Harry shouted once again, and just as before, he missed as the final wizard dove to the side.

Then he too vanished.

Harry snarled at the empty alley and felt like hexing something into itty bitty pieces. Here he'd had the chance to capture or incapacitate three Death Eaters and they'd all gotten away. It was infuriating!

Below him, Derek straightened up, glanced up at Harry's floating head, and trotted over to where the Death Eaters had been before bending over to examine the pavement. Harry swooped down until he was within touching distance.

"Well, they didn't leave much, but –"

"Stupify." Harry growled and Derek Malone dropped unconscious from a point-blank stunner to the back.

0101010110

Tim spooned up another serving of the grayish mush Ron had blearily waved him towards when he'd wandered downstairs into the kitchen. It was his second bowl full and he was very intrigued by the fruity flavor of the lumpy paste. It rather appeared as if it was magical rather than natural and he wondered if that impacted the nutritional value. Could wizards infuse a Twinkie with vitamins or perhaps remove the fat of a hamburger yet keep the flavor? Or make celery taste like a brownie? If so, someone was losing out on a fortune in the weight-loss industry.

He brought a spoonful up to eye level and watched it flow off his spoon and back into the bowl. It really did look incredibly unappetizing. It didn't smell so great either, but when he tasted it, an explosion of intense flavors melted over his tongue. What would it look like if he did some chemical analysis on it?

He took another mouthful and considered the lumpy sludge. How could he smuggle a bit of this out of the kitchen without making a mess? He could just spill some on his clothes, but he'd rather not deal with cleaning them later. He gave the spoon a swipe through the mush and examined its viscosity and how quickly it flowed back into place. If magic was involved, could the effect be duplicated some other way…?

Next to him, Ron was finishing up his second bowl, eyes still gummy and hair sticking up every which way.

"How do you make this?"

Ron blinked up at him. "Huh?"

"This…porridge…how do you make it?"

"Oh. Dunno." He waved towards one of the cupboards with his spoon, "Harry went shopping, I think. It was in one of the cupboards and the instructions were to just enlarge the bowl and add heat." He stuck his spoon back in his food, "I think I like the berry flavors better than this melon stuff, but it's better than the stuff we were eating when we first got here." He wrinkled his nose and shoveled in another bit as if to banish the memory.

Tim opened his mouth to ask another question, but was cut off by the slamming of the front door. The entire house seemed to shake and a woman's voice immediately began to shriek, "Mudbloods! Traitors! Disgraceful trespassers! Filth not worthy to walk these honored halls!"

Tim tensed, glancing at the kitchen and then at Ron. Ron was scowling at the door, but didn't seem worried. They'd been warned about the portrait of Mrs. Black, and from both the volume and the vitriol in the words, he could see why they didn't want to wake her.

"Who slammed the bloody door?" Ron groused.

As if in answer to his question, Harry flung open the door to the kitchen, letting it swing wide and hitting the wall opposite before storming through.

Tim scooted back from the table and stood, "What's wrong? Di-Derek!" He nearly called out the wrong name as he saw Dick, frozen immobile, floating behind Harry. "What happened? Is he hurt?" He rushed around the table, preparing to go see what kind of injuries his brother had.

"Stay back!" Harry snarled and Tim reared back, startled, "He's not hurt," Harry continued in a gruff but quieter tone. He waved his wand and the still body levitated over to the table and settled neatly among the breakfast dishes. As the spell was released, the unnatural stiffness fell away, but Dick remained unconscious.

Ron abandoned his breakfast and stood as well, moving uncertainly towards Harry.

Tim looked between Harry and the unmoving man on the table, "What happened?" Tim repeated, edging closer to Dick, but not touching him. If Dick were under some sort of spell, it was possible that by touching him Tim might 'catch' it too and he didn't want to add himself to the problem.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice preceded her into the kitchen, "Were you outside? You know you shouldn't – oh!" She spotted Dick and rushed over to him, "Did he get attacked? Was he outside? What was he doing there?"

"He's fine, stop fussing!" Harry grabbed her arm and drew her away from Dick, as if he were contagious, then he pointed his wand at Tim who's eyes widened and hands came up to show that they were empty, "They are working for somebody! The ministry or something."

"What?" Both Tim and Hermione exclaimed together with Ron a beat behind them.

"I caught him," Harry's wand re-oriented to jab at Dick's shoulder before returning to point at Tim's chest, "He was talking to someone on the phone then gave whoever it was that genealogy book. And it had to be someone magical because it vanished without anyone else being nearby. So they're working with someone and I want to know who!"

01010101010

A/N: I know, it's short. I do apologize. Wedding plans have been sucking up all my time lately. I'm not sure if I am optimistic about there being more time after the wedding or not, so I will just continue to warn you, my wonderful readers, that I post slowly! But I do give my heartfelt thanks to those of you who've reviewed. They've had amazing powers of inspiration for me! :-)

This was my first 'action' scene and I felt it ended rather quickly, but that's just the way it kept wanting to be written.

If anyone was interested, the 'explosion and bright light' was Dick throwing a flash-bang at the Death Eaters. Harry didn't make the connection though since he was still recovering from the disorienting spell.


	8. Flare Up, Cool Down

A/N: Just a reminder, since it's been months since the last chapter was posted.

Dick=Derek

Tim=Tommy

This is not Beta'd so all mistakes are mine (feel free to point them out, by the way, so they can be corrected ) And I do apolizie for all the spamming of the alerts – the FF site just wouldn't allow anyone to actually see this chapter, so I kept trying…hopefully 3rd time is the charm here. Sigh.

Chapter 8: Flare Up, Cool Down

This…This could be a problem.

Tim looked at the wizard who's wand remained level at his breastbone, the green eyes frustrated and hard and then at his unconscious friend sprawled out around the breakfast dishes. He couldn't run. There's no way he'd leave Dick behind.

Okay, then what did he know? Dick would have sent that genealogy book to Babs to be scanned into a computer. Somehow that involved the book vanishing in front of Harry, although Tim doubted magic had been involved in any way. So, what actually happened?

He looked back at Harry and saw that both Ron and Hermione were also staring at him with questions in their eyes.

He mentally shook his head. What actually happened was irrelevant. He needed something plausible. He needed to bluff.

He raised his hands again, this time in a calming guesture. "I don't know what you think you saw, but we don't know anyone who does magic except you. Derek knows a lady who works in a library and he mentioned he was going to ask her to scan those pages you gave us into a computer. Having a computer do the work would be so much faster than doing anything by hand."

"They disappeared." Harry insisted, unwilling to let the point drop.

Hermione licked her lips and laid a hand on Harry's arm, "Under the truth potion Derek did say he wasn't working for Voldemort."

"I didn't say they were!" Harry told her, shaking off her touch, "We got attacked by some Death Eaters and –"

"What?" Both Ron and Hermione exclaimed, but Harry continued talking right over them.

"-and Derek managed to kick one of them into a wall and they definitely didn't know who he was and then they escaped. So I know he's not with them. But that's not the point!" He looked over at his friends for the first time, "We didn't ask if Derek was working for anyone else. What about the Ministry? Or," he waved his hand expansively, "there's probably other groups out there, someone who'd like to have a spy close to us." His eyes returned to Tim and filled with determination, "And I want to know who you are working for."

"No one." Tim returned emphatically, "We're not here to spy, we're not here for any other reason than to help you stop that megalomaniac who wants to take over." His mind worked furiously trying to think of some evidence he might give that would be acceptable. He didn't want to offer himself up for another truth serum if he could help it. He probably wouldn't get as lucky as Dick had under questioning.

An idea struck, "What about if I can prove that Derek was just calling the librarian? We could call her up and see if she can confirm the story." And Tim would have to cross his fingers that he could give Babs enough hints so that she could cover for them without Harry getting suspicious.

There was a tense pause as Harry seemed to consider the offer. "How did he make the papers disappear?" He seemed unable to let that point go.

Tim wanted to point say that perhaps Harry had missed something or that he perhaps wasn't paying close enough attention, but he'd had enough experience in confrontations to know that you don't hint that the aggressor is at fault unless you want to trigger a more belligerent defensive action, so he just simply admitted, "I don't know."

Harry seemed to deflate at that. "Well…fine." He transferred a glare over to Dick's unconscious form, but it was less heated. "Fine, call back that woman and let us talk to her. Prove that he just called a library and sent those papers there for," He wrinkled his nose, "whatever the computer does."

Lowering his hands, Tim moved towards Harry and his hovering friends, "I'll need to grab my phone from upstairs." He didn't have much hope that Harry would let him go alone, but it was worth a shot.

Hermione stepped aside, looking worried and uncertain, her eyes darting between Harry, Dick and Tim as if unsure of who to focus on. Ron, on the other hand, crossed his arms over his chest and stayed put, with narrowed eyes as if Harry's suspicions had awakened his own.

Harry, wand still steady on Tim, moved pointedly to block his exit, "Just use his," He said, jerking his chin toward Dick.

"I can't." Tim replied, only partially honest, "It's password protected." Which was true enough, but Tim could probably get around that if he needed to.

Harry let out an explosive breath, grimacing in frustration. "Fine." He stated and finally moved aside.

As expected, Tim wasn't allowed to wander away on his own and everyone followed him up to his room where he retrieved his ordinary-looking phone from a side pocket on his bag. Everyone may have followed him up to his room, but they hovered in the doorway leaving Tim to retrieve the phone by himself. He took the opportunity to hide his left hand from view as he fumbled with the bag and had ample time to snatch up a few other items that might help even the odds if it came down to a fight.

"We need to get out of the house for the phone to work." Tim announced as he casually pocketed the throwing stars and knock-out gas.

All of them, minus the unconscious Dick, trooped out the front door and into the street. They probably looked ridiculous, if anyone was actually paying attention – three nearly adult teenagers escorting a younger teen at 'stick-point' out onto the sidewalk.

Tim carefully turned on his cell phone, moving slowly enough that no one would get trigger-happy (hopefully). Then he dialed Babs and pressed the button to enable the speaker so everyone could hear the recording start up. A bland male voice intoned, "We're sorry, but no one is available to take your call right now." Tim let the recording play out, not interrupting to cue cue Babs in that she should pick up. Assuming she wasn't actually away from the office, she should be listening in to any messages, so Tim could let her know she needed to be in character when they talked.

Tim cleared his throat, "Hello Mrs. Orburro, this is Tommy Malone. Would you please call me back when you get the chance?" He hesitated, then added, "It's not an emergency or anything, but the sooner the better. Thanks." He rung off and looked at the others. His message was as innocuous as it could possibly be and unless Harry was completely paranoid, he wouldn't suspect anything at all. After all, what was the likelihood that anyone would have protocols set in place for this kind of thing?

Well, even Batman didn't have a single code word set in place for 'Nightwing's unconscious and I need a Librarian to call me back to substantiate our story before I'm turned into a toad', but he'd work with what he had.

The name 'Mrs. Orburro' would tell Babs that he needed corroboration for something from her, and giving his name as Tommy would hopefully tell her enough about his alias and their potentially compromised situation that she might be able to make the right connections. It was his code name, so she'd need to treat him as his under-cover name suggested. There should have been enough back-ground noise to indicate he was on speaker-phone, so she'd know others were listening in. She was brilliant, but it wasn't a whole lot for her to go on. He'd have to cross his fingers and hope he could drop a few more hints when she called back.

Even as he thought it, his phone vibrated. He answered and a raspy female voice, completely different from Babs usual clear one spoke, "Tommy! What can I do for you?"

Feeling Harry's eyes boring into him, Tim carefully began in a apologetic voice, "Mrs. Orburro, thanks for getting back to me so quickly." And now Tim had to word things such that Babs gave him the correct response, but it didn't sound like he was feeding her the words. He hoped his apologetic tone would cover him, "I know you're usually manning the reference desk and all, so I don't want to take you away from anyone if you're busy, but I was wondering if you'd heard from Derek lately?"

"Oh, yes! Lovely boy, called just this evening." It suddenly occurred to him that it was probably the middle of the night in Gotham, and late enough that a library might not even be open. He'd have to hope no one else thought of that little detail. "Have you lost him again?" There was an obvious note of fond exasperation, as if Tommy was constantly losing track of his brother and calling the library for him was a common occurrence. Considering the fact that both Tim and Dick looked more like they ran a car-jacking ring than were regulars at the library, Tim hoped that Babs words didn't make things worse. Between the timing and the incongruent descriptions of the Malones, this wasn't a promising start.

"No, no," Tim reassured her. He knew exactly where Dick was and didn't need Bruce to come tracking them down. At least not yet. "No, I've just got some…" He couldn't use the word 'friends' as that was code for a hostile and despite his suspicions, Harry wasn't quite there yet, "_people_ here that were a bit concerned about what he'd been doing earlier. Would you mind answering a few questions for them?"

There was a pause on the line. He really hadn't given her much except a lack of code-words for danger and the hint that she should be a librarian, which should be all she'd need to state the truth, but Tim hadn't been there earlier when Dick had talked to her, so he couldn't be completely sure that she'd say what he wanted her to say.

"Why of course! Put them on the line for me."

To Harry's surprise, Tim held out the phone to him. Since it was on speaker, technically, Harry didn't need to hold it, but as Tim had expected, Harry lowered his wand as he fumbled for the phone. Neither Hermione nor Ron had their wands pointing at him and now neither did Harry, putting Tim in a much better position if things when sour.

"Er, hello?" Harry was holding the phone as if it were something delicate that might leap out of his hand at any moment.

"Hello dear, what did you want to know?" Babs' raspy cheer seemed to be the perfect choice for the situation – it was probably making Harry picture a sweet little old lady, someone who'd never try to hurt a fly.

Harry gave an awkward cough, "If you wouldn't mind, ma'am, could you just tell me where you're at?"

"Do you need directions to the library?" Babs was probably sending out a signal to Black Canary or Batgirl that they needed to head over to the nearest library right away disguised as a wrinkly, cheerful librarian. It was a rather amusing image, actually.

"No, uh, thanks though. You said Derek called you earlier? What did he say?"

"He was sending me a package."

Short and sweet. Bruce would approve.

"How were you going to get it?"

"He said someone was dropping it off. Now what seems to be the problem here? What are you looking for? Is Derek or Tommy in some kind of trouble?"

"Oh, no," Harry reassured her, "We just had some miscommunication is all. What were you going to do with the package?"

Another short pause before she answered somewhat vaguely, "A bit of scanning, that's all."

Hermione interjected, "Thank you for your time Mrs. Orborro, we do appreciate it." She took the phone from Harry and handed it back to Tim, before lowering her voice and hissing at Harry, "Everything sounds fine, let her get back to work. If you want to know anything else, let's wake Derek up and ask him."

Tim had no doubt that Babs had picked that up. The phone was beyond top-of-the-line, after all, but she didn't say anything except, "Tommy?"

"Everything's fine." He assured her, because it looked like it would be. Hermione was starting to whisper facts like 'the Ministry wouldn't employ muggles' and 'they brought Hedwig, remember?' which appeared to be soothing the doubts Harry'd found. It looked like they'd wake Derek up and move on to the real issues.

Conflict resolved without a fight? How unusual. He'd keep the throwing stars in his pockets until he could get his full gear on later though. Just in case.

He gave Babs another reassurance, this time using an 'all-clear' code-word and hung up the phone.

01010101010

Ron scratched his elbow and leaned back in his chair, balancing it on the two back legs, trying to look casual and not quite pulling it off.

They were in the kitchen again, the breakfast dishes cleared away and Hermione was fussing over Derek as if being stunned were some sort of major ordeal.

Ron could feel the annoyance tightening his shoulders.

Harry didn't need to apologize for his actions. The muggle had been stupid, wandering out of the house without telling them what he was up to. They could have avoided the whole problem if Malone had just said something beforehand. He still wasn't sure exactly why the Malones sent off that stupid book in the first place. To get it scanned? What did that even mean? How can someone scan something without magic? All a muggle could do is read the book. Did they mean that their librarian friend was a speed-reader? She could 'scan' the pages faster than Derek and Tommy could?

Muggles. He snorted. They were totally illogical.

Harry had tried to interrogate Derek the instant he was awakened, but Hermione had shushed him, found the man a pain-reliever and hovered over him describing the entire missunderstanding, shooting Harry disappointed looks at every pause. Harry now looked a strange combination of defiant and ashamed.

So Harry was a bit paranoid. It wasn't exactly a surprise. With everything he'd gone through, it'd probably be surprising if he wasn't. He'd been right about Malfoy when neither Ron nor Hermione would listen to him, so Ron was inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt, but in this case there wasn't much behind Derek's action other than simple muggle strangeness. They should just drop the whole thing and move on.

"Were we going to the Ministry today or what?" Ron asked into a lull in Hermione's monologue, diverting everyone's attention. They hadn't made any kind of decision, but it seemed like something they'd probably have to do at some point.

Straightening in his seat, Harry said 'Yes! We need to know where Snape lived."

"No!" Hermione finally settled in her own seat at the end of the table looking like the bridge between the two opposing forces of the Malones and the wizards. "Harry, you can't go anywhere near the Ministry. It's too dangerous! If we need the address, we'll get it somewhere else."

Ron agreed. The last thing they needed was a mob around the Boy-Who-Lived – every move they made would be in the paper the next day. "Harry, you shouldn't go to the Ministry, but Hermione and I could."

Already shaking his head, Harry disagreed. "You're just as recognizable as I am. If it's too dangerous for me, it's too dangerous for you."

"No it's not. We're not nearly as well known! I could visit my dad and then we could find the Office of whatever-its-called and look up whatever we needed." He looked over at Hermione for support and found her frowning.

"If we did go to the Ministry, we probably couldn't get what we needed through the proper channels," she started slowly and Ron found his eyebrows winging upward. She caught his expression and pursed her lips before waving her hand as if brushing something aside, "I know, I know, and I'd like it if we could do things the proper way and fill out all the correct forms and everything, but that's what I was doing this morning before…" Her eyes darted over to the Malones who were listening silently, "well, before. Anyway, the department of Property Management has an extremely convoluted procedure for inquiries. We can't prove ownership in the land we're interested in or even a disputed claim, so the easy methods are already out."

"Can't we say we're disputing Snape's claim or something?" Harry asked.

She shook her head, "We'd need to bring a whole legal case-file for that. The system is just not set up for someone to be found who doesn't want to be found. Apparently privacy is more important to most families than ease of access." She shook her head, "The information will be there, but…" She bit her lip, "I think we may have to _borrow_ it." Her face flushed as she suggested it and, knowing Hermione, Ron had to admit to some surprise and no little admiration that she'd even come to that conclusion.

Harry's eyes gleamed, but he remained tactful, "You may be right Hermione. I'm sure that filling out all the paperwork would be the best way to do it, but we just don't have time for that kind of thing right now. And we're not going to actually destroy it or anything."

"Right." Her skin returning to its normal hue, she nodded decisively, "We'll just borrow it long enough to see the address. We don't even need to take it out of the office."

"This seems a bit complicated for just an address," Tommy muttered.

Hermione nodded her head in fervent agreement, "It's ridiculous, but that's the way it works around here. We could probably get it at Hogwarts..." She trailed off at Harry's dark look then sighed, "Perhaps with a polyjuice potion we could sneak into the Ministry."

Harry's dark look morphed into a serious scowl. "That'd take forever!"

"We could buy one. Maybe" She suggested a bit weakly. And Ron just shook his head. If they could find a polyjuice potion for sale anywhere, it'd be of very dubious quaility. He didn't really want to grow extra arms or something worse. Hermione seemed to be thinking the same thing as she sighed again. "Well, perhaps your invisibility cloak?"

"Wait," Derek interjected, "Do you just need someone unrecognizable? What about Tommy or me? We could go, unless there's some sort of magic-detector that'll go off if we get close."

Ron snorted, "You? You wouldn't have a clue what to do! If you reacted to the flying memos or the lifts or any of the hundreds of other spells that are so common no one else would even notice them, you'd stick out like a sore thumb."

"No wait," Hermione's hands moved as if to hush him, "That could work. They have muggles come in every now and then. There are lots of families with squibs or muggle relatives that need to see some department or other. They wouldn't stick out any more than any other visitor would."

Both Harry and Ron looked at her incredulously, "You're not serious?" Harry blurted. "They couldn't – they wouldn't -"

He didn't seem to be able to form a coherent sentence, so Ron jumped in, "What would happen if they were discovered? And how would they even get the file? It's probably in one of those magically expanding cabinets and you need a wand to open those."

"And what if they are part of some ministry plot?" Harry finally managed to spit out. Hermione huffed and Harry admitted, "I know. It's not likely." He sent the Malones what Ron supposed was meant to be an apologetic smile but which came across as more of a grimace, "I just don't like it."

Hermione folded her arms, "Do you have a better idea?"

Harry glared down at the table, but didn't reply.

"You said you had an invisibility cloak, right?" Derek asked, tone cautious, as if Harry would lash out at him for speaking. Harry grunted and Hermione nodded, "Well, why don't one of you come with us then? Tommy and I could be the visible hands and voice and you could both keep an eye on us and keep us from doing anything too idiotic."

Harry looked up at that, his black expression fading into thoughtfulness. "That – that might work." He chewed on is lower lip and glanced at both Ron and Hermione. "I want to go though."

Hermione opened her mouth, but Ron beat her to it, "No! Harry, this is a stupid little information-gathering stunt. It's not even all that important." He ignored the disagreement he could see brewing behind Harry's eyes and plowed on, "It's something that would be bloody insane for you to risk yourself over." He took a breath and then admitted, "It should be Hermione anyway."

Harry, who looked ready to argue seemed thrown by that admission and Ron continued, "She knows the departments and regulations and probably has the whole building mapped out in her head." He glanced at the witch who looked a bit abashed, but didn't contradict him, "She would be the best person to make sure everything went smoothly."

A gusty sigh signaled Harry's defeat and Ron felt a sense of satisfaction at that, although it vanished into a knot of dread when he looked over at the woman at the end of the table. The ministry was hardy the most dangerous place in Britain at the moment, but it wasn't exactly the most friendly either and he didn't really like the idea that she'd be going in alone. He glanced at the Malones. Well, mostly alone.

"Okay," Derek rubbed his hands together, expression bright, "Now that that's settled, I was wondering if we could hop on over to that alley down the street. The one where those Death Eaters were hanging out. I thought I saw something that might be helpful, but didn't get a chance to collect it when I was there last." That was said with a touch of irony, but no one commented on exactly why that was.

"You saw something?" Harry asked. "What?"

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A/N: Hello! Sorry about the wait. Again. But I'll say once more that I have no plans to abandon this story, despite the long wait between chapters, so if you enjoy this, please stick with it and eventually we'll reach the end. Maybe even sometime this decade! We can hope.

I do want to mention something about this chapter. Ron may come across with a touch of condescension towards Muggles, and that was intentional. The way I see it, he's never been around any before for any length of time (Hermione doesn't count in his eyes any more than Harry or any other Muggle-born would). Ron is continuously fed the contemptuous attitude toward muggles by his culture, his father finds them 'quaint', and I just can't imagine he'd have any reason to think of them as anything other than slightly backward, pathetic creatures. He's not anti-muggle and if asked would never say he's prejudiced towards them, but I do think he's picked up an unconscious attitude of superiority. Well, at least that's my take on the whole thing

Finally, a huge thank-you to everyone who has reviewed! I can't express how motivating it is to see those reviews show up in my inbox. Thank you, thank you!


	9. Analysis

**Chapter 9 – Analysis**

"Dirt? You saw dirt?" Ron's dubious question echoed off the brick walls surrounding the alley they stood in.

"Dirt and blood," Dick corrected him, carefully scraping samples into little baggies. The blood was rather plentiful on the wall where the first Death Eater he'd kicked had smacked his face up against the brick and Tim was collecting a sample there. It was still wet, so it'd be excellent for testing, but Dick didn't hold much hope on an analysis telling him anything useful. The wizards weren't likely to be found in any police database. But the dirt on the ground might be more useful. The concrete was filthy, of course, but all three of the wizards had done a lot of shuffling in a small vicinity and there were even a few clear footprints, so there was always the possibility of finding something useful. The vast majority of detective work revolved around taking little samples of fibers and blood and, yes, dirt. It was far less glamorous than most people thought.

"Are you going to tell me that you know forensics?" This question was asked by Hermione in no less an incredulous voice than Ron's had been. All three of them had followed Dick and Tim out to the alley while Harry had given them a brief run-down of the fight that morning. He's spent far more time than Dick was really comfortable with on Dick's own actions, but he seemed to have missed the parts Dick had been most concerned with. After all, explaining why you carry a flash-bang grenade or throwing stars would probably be rather...convoluted. As it was, Tim had flashed him a look that clearly said his young partner thought he'd been far more lucky than he deserved. He'd just shrugged in return.

"Yes," He finally answered Hermione's question. "I did mention I had a rather diverse skill-set when we were talking yesterday, right? Well, I happen to have taken an interest in forensics when I was younger, and sought out some training and here we are. It's not usually all that useful," which was a blatant lie, "but it was interesting to learn." And that was under-stating it far enough that it was kind of funny. Learning how to track down criminals as a nine-year-old under Batman's direction had been a kick and a half.

Stepping closer, Hermione peered over his shoulder as he moved on to another likely spot on the ground near another blood splatter, "How are you going to analyze that? Do you have some sort of machine in your bag?" This question came across as genuinely curious, as if Dick really might have advance forensic equipment stuffed away in his room at Grimauld Place.

He shot a dimpled grin over his shoulder and winked, "Nope, we're going to borrow someone else's."

01010101010

Conflicted. That summed up her feelings on the whole situation nicely. She wanted the Malones to be helpful – of course she did. And she wanted to find out more about the Death Eaters that had attacked Harry and Derek. And she certainly wanted to make progress on tracking down the horcruxes.

…but did it they have to go about it like this?

"You want to break into a university and use their equipment?" She knew her voice was a little shrill, but honestly, how could they think that was a good idea? It was a university! There was just something about the thought of those towering buildings full of learning that made her feel as if a person should enter those halls with reverence. The very idea of desecrating on with theft made her skin crawl.

Derek was giving her a funny look as he repeated in a slow voice, "We're going to

_borrow_ their equipment. It's a university. That's what the machines are there for; student use."

"But why not a professional lab?"

Tommy flashed her an amused look, "You'd rather break into a police building instead?"

"The professional labs run twenty-four hours a day," Derek patiently informed her, "The case back-logs are always months deep. A lab at a university is there for training purposes. There are always new students wandering in and out, so no one would notice us and the equipment is there for any student to use. It's not even technically breaking in to wander the halls of a place like that."

She looked at the row of little samples Derek and Tommy had collected and then over to Ron and Harry, both watching her as if she were going to explode at the slightest provocation. "We won't be disturbing anyone, right? I mean, we won't be breaking anything or taking the equipment, right?"

Derek looked her in the eye, "I promise, I know what I'm doing. We're just going to use the equipment and leave. We'll make sure everything is put back exactly as we found it."

Her shoulders slumped and a sigh escaped her lips. Just one more ideal to be sacrificed for this Merlin-forsaken war. "Alright."

01010101010

The campus library resembled the Hogwarts one in the same way a Cleansweep resembled a Firebolt. Or maybe a better analogy would be a Firebolt and a dust rag. A library should have books, full stop. As far as Ron was aware, that was the _definition_ of a library. But from what he could see, this library was full of tables and people and large windows and _no books_. It was ridiculous.

Most of the tables had these funny muggle contraptions called 'computers' and he vaguely remembered one of the Malones mentioning the word before. They sort of reminded him of portraits with their flat moving pictures, but not really. They made weird beeping noises instead of talking and the pictures weren't of helpful people. He didn't see how what they were showing could be all that useful, but Tommy seemed glued to the image as if it were imparting the secrets of alchemy.

Ron knew they had to come here because somehow the library would tell them where the correct lab was, but he wasn't really clear on how that would work. Hermione had taken one look at the building and refused to enter, muttering something about how she didn't want to 'spoil it'. Derek had also stayed outside, claiming that Tommy could handle things just fine on his own. Harry had also volunteered to stay outside in the sunlight, but Ron had wanted to see what a muggle library would look like so he'd followed after Tommy. So far, he wasn't impressed.

Ron peeked over Tommy's shoulder at the 'computer screen', staring as it rapidly changed from image to image. He had no idea what Tim was doing, but he seemed to be doing it quickly, the images flashing by. The machine eventually seemed to settle on a bunch of rows of text, but when he tried to read it, it might as well have been advanced Runes for all the sense it made. Lowering his voice, he asked, "What are you doing?"

"Hacking the school database."

Ron squinted and tilted his head, feeling no more enlightened than before. Tommy glanced up at him and smirked, "It's basically just a bunch of records and I'm telling this computer that I have permission to read and change them."

"Oh." Well, that did make sense. Sort of. "Why are we doing that?"

"It's the middle of the day and there are lots of people around," Ron, pointedly not looking at all the muggles milling about, had to agree. "And if we're going to use the labs, we need to make sure they aren't already in use and that no one is going to disturb us. I'm checking the schedules for classes and then looking at who's got the room booked in between. The schedule is packed solid right now, so I'm going to have to bump someone. It'd be nice if I could make sure it wouldn't ruin the student's grade first, so I'm doing a little research before I just change the records. And then I'll send the person a message saying that there's been a malfunction in the lab and that he or she needs to reschedule their time slot."

"Ah." Ron nodded. That made more sense. Making sure no one's grade was damaged was the kind of thing Hermione would think to do too. "What can I do to help?"

Tommy's lips twitched, but he answered, "It would be helpful if you just keep an eye out. Make sure no one is paying us too much attention."

With some sense of relief, Ron abandoned his study of the confusing machine and turned his attention to the people. Even if they were muggles, they were much easier to understand. With a discrete flick of his wrist, the wand hidden up his sleeve slid down and he cast a nearly silent charm that made this area of the library less noticeable. It wouldn't stop anyone determined to get there, but it might prevent anyone from being too nosey. Anything more powerful would probably damage the muggle equipment.

Then he settled back to wait.

01010101010

Waiting seemed to be the order of the day. Ron, stretched out on his back on a cold metal counter top, tossed a fist-sized rubber ball up in the air and caught it, switched hands and tossed it again. Catch and switch, catch and switch.

They'd been waiting in that dull, sterile room for over three hours so far and if Tommy hadn't left at one point and brought back some amazingly greasy fish and chips, he would have had to declare this to be the most pointless day of the summer. Tommy and Derek had made some disappointed noises when they'd finally gotten into the lab (thanks to Ron's handy _alohomora_ spell) and examined the equipment there. Ron had gotten the impression that everything was older than they would have liked and therefore slower, so the trip to the Ministry had been delayed until the next day.

Ron had been a bit surprised that Hermione hadn't found the whole thing fascinating, but apparently the desire to have everything about the Ministry procedures memorized was too strong to resist and once they'd discovered they 'd be waiting around for hours, she'd returned to Grimauld Place for more research. Harry had gone with her – ostensibly to help - and left Ron on muggle-guard duty. Initially pleased to not be roped into the research, the hours of boredom had since taken over. He couldn't do anything too magical in case the residual power affected the machines and the interim wait was dull, dull, dull. Both Derek and Tommy seemed perfectly content to sit and do nothing. Ron had thought about asking if they wanted to play chess since he could conjure up a board, but discarded the idea almost immediately. They probably didn't know the game anyway.

Shifting slightly, he glanced over at Derek. Unlike Tommy who'd picked up some sort of small computer and had been fiddling with it for the past hour or so (he's claimed someone had left their 'ipad' unattended and he was just borrowing it for the day), Derek had settled into a cross-legged pose, closed his eyes, and hadn't seemed to shift since lunch. Ron wondered if he'd somehow fallen asleep sitting up.

As if in a loop, Ron's mind curved back to the Malones, rehashing the thoughts he'd been mulling over as they'd sat in silence. The Malones were both rather enigmatic, in Ron's opinion. They hadn't volunteered much about their past, they hadn't volunteered much about their skills (Dirt investigation? Really? Who does that?), and, worst of all, as far as Ron was concerned, they didn't react right.

Hermione and Harry seemed to be fine with everything. Well, Harry was wavering between distrust and guilt at the moment, but he hadn't kicked the muggles out as Ron had half expected him to. Nonetheless, neither of them seemed to notice how…blasé the Malones were about everything. Ron had seen muggles react to magic before. He'd seen a father scoop up his kids and run away when his mum absently summoned a spoon when they'd been eating out in London when he'd been young. He'd seen his dad have to obliviate a pair of nearly cationic-with-shock teens after he'd forgotten himself in his delight over a new muggle car. He'd seen the horrified outrage of Harry's relatives.

These two muggles, however, looked on the happenings of the wizarding world that they'd encountered with a curiosity and almost jaded ease that unsettled him at some level. He didn't think they were evil or Death Eaters in disguise or anything - he'd leave the suspicions like that to Harry. But there was just something…something off. They didn't act like Muggles who'd grown up around magic. They didn't know enough for that. They didn't act like muggles who'd never heard of it before a few days ago either.

Shaking his head with a sigh, he tossed the ball again. Muggles were weird. That's probably all it was. Until they started sacrificing chickens or something equally bizarre, he'd just have to cope with their weirdness and try to smother that itch in the back of his mind.

The ball returned to his hand once again and he started a serious internal debate about whether a nap would reflect poorly on his guarding abilities or not.

01010101010

Before they left the university, Ron had flipped through their printouts and made the sort of polite humming noises that Tim had heard a young mother make over her kid's indecipherable art project. The 'I'm humoring you so you don't feel bad, but this is a complete waste of time' noise and Tim had had to cough to cover up his laughter.

Whether he knew about Tim's amusement or not though, Ron had his revenge as he apparated himself and the two Gothamites to the front steps of Grimauld place. The process had been down-right nauseating – much worse than a floo trip and Tim made an immediate decision to avoid it in all future travel plans if at all possible. Dick, the acrobatic prat, had emerged without any indication that he'd even noticed his stomach try to vacate through his ears.

Releasing their arms, Ron stretched out and rotated his wrists with a grimace, "Ugh. Taking two at a time is harder than it looks." Then he hoped up the steps and through the front door leaving Tim to scowl at his back.

Dick laid a hand on his shoulder. "You alright?"

"Yeah. Fine." He shrugged off the hand and trudged through the door.

Hermione, eager curiosity shining in her eyes, greeted them with a wave before beckoning them silently into the kitchen. Mindful of the obnoxious painting in the hall, they complied and found Harry setting out bowls of beef stew around the table and Ron already seated with eyes riveted on the food in front of him.

"How did it go? Did you find anything interesting?"

Dick slid into the seat next to Hermione and passed her the print-outs in lieu of answering. She snatched them up and rifled through them, "What do these graphs mean?"

"We haven't had a chance to look them over yet, but that first one is a chemical test." He leaned over and pointed to one of the bar charts. "See here? It shows how much iron is in the soil sample. And this one shows how much magnesium." He slid his finger along the row of chemical abbreviations, skipping over naming all the others. "Sometimes it's possible to determine where someone has been based on these chemicals because no two areas have the exact same distribution. We'd need to find an accurate map to compare this to before it'd do us any good though."

"Oh." Hermione looked a bit stymied at that. "Well, what about these other ones?"

"Hermione!" Ron grumbled around his mouthful of beef. "Let the man eat before you interrogate him."

She frowned over at him, but Dick just chuckled and answered her question. "That one is on biological indicators." He looked over the numbers and shook his head. "Those numbers fall into the range for birds. Probably pigeon droppings."

She sighed and let the papers fall to the table before picking up her spoon. "Or owl pellets."

"Do you really think any of that will be any help at all?" Harry asked.

Dick shrugged and started in on his dinner. "Maybe, maybe not. We'll go over everything tonight and see."

Harry tapped the side of his bowl with his off hand in a frustrated gesture, "But _how_ could it help? Even if we found out that those wizards had been in, I don't know, the Tate museum, that's not going to help us."

"It might lead to whatever these Death Eaters are using for a base of operations. It might lead us to Voldemort."

Ron looked up, clear skepticism on his face, "You're going to use dirt from a filthy alley floor to track down You-know-who?" He snorted and went back to eating.

Dick shrugged, unruffled at the lack of enthusiasm. Both he and Tim had seen enough cases solved by a tiny soil sample to give the technique the chance it deserved. "You never know."

010101010101

Harry, chin propped up on his hand, gazed sightlessly at the peeling wallpaper in the parlor.

Everyone had split up after dinner. Hermione to her research on the Ministry, Ron to the attics muttering something about tracking down a leak over his room, the Malones to do whatever they were doing with their fancy computer print-outs, and Harry to the parlor to think.

The hand not keeping his head propped up reached up under his glasses to rub his eyes. There was another headache blooming and his stomach gave an uneasy twinge as he wondered if it was a normal stress headache or if _this_ would be the time that Voldemort reached into his mind and plucked out the thoughts that Harry so desperately hoped the madman would never find.

Voldemort hadn't made a serious attempt to get in his mind since the disaster at the Ministry in fifth year, but with the ending of Occlumancy and his failure to close his mind, Harry was left with the knowledge that he was still vulnerable to attack and there was little he could do about it. It was a secret dread that he hadn't voiced to his friends. All Voldemort needed to do to crush any hope Harry had of beating him was to take a peek at his memories of destroying a few horcruxes and hide the ones he had left in even more impossible places. Like the middle of the Atlantic sea floor or the Arctic circle. And then the madman would probably start churning out more soul-slivers like he was a puking dementor.

Harry shivered and clenched his jaw. All that stood between disaster and hope was Tom Riddle's arrogant certainty that nothing in Harry's little mind could be of any value and that was weak platform to hold the future of so many people on.

Harry dropped his hand with a sigh. It may be a weak thing to lean on to, but so far it had held up and there wasn't much he could do to change the situation. Voldemort wasn't short on arrogance and no one was likely to point out that he was overlooking a valuable method of getting information on the enemy. So far their luck had held and he'd just have to hope it stayed that way.

In the meantime, the glimpses through Voldemort's eyes during Harry's dreams were short and nearly meaningless. They cut off almost as soon as they started and Harry couldn't be anything but grateful for that small mercy.

Someone cleared their throat from the doorway and Harry whipped his head around, hand dropping to his wand without thinking. But it was only Derek, hands full of those graphs from his dirt analysis thing. Tommy hovered behind him, nearly invisible in the shadows of the hall.

"We may have something." Derek informed him, looking down at his paperwork with a crease between his eyebrows.

Harry sat up straighter, his morbid thoughts from earlier vanishing, "What?"

Stepping fully in to the room, Derek answered, "You remember those biological indicators from before? The bird ones?"

Harry nodded as Derek looked up, "The detailed analysis is showing genetic markers for peacocks, not pigeons or owls or anything you'd usually find in a city like London. It was found in three different samples, so it's got a high probability of actually coming from our suspect's shoes. They might be camping out near a zoo or a bird sanctuary."

Harry sucked in a breath at the mention of peacocks. He knew where the Death Eaters could have walked all around them. He'd just been thinking of his visions and more than one had showed the Malfoy Manor and its flock of white peacocks.

Breath hissing between his clenched teeth, Harry ground out, "It's Malfoy. They're probably housing the Death Eaters." His fists tightened. It made sense. In fact it made so much sense he was dismayed he hadn't thought about it before. Of course Malfoy Sr. would be using his gallons to support Voldemort's rise and of course Voldemort wouldn't leave one of his wealthiest supporters to himself. The vast estate was probably teaming with Death Eaters.

He had a sudden picture of the dignified Narcissa Malfoy running along behind masked Death Eaters, wringing her hands as they trampled the begonias and involuntarily relaxed at the unexpected humor of the thought.

The headache reminded him of its presence as he shook his head, "I should have thought of that. The Order should raid the place…" He trailed off, mouth tightening. The Order wouldn't do any such thing. They should, but they wouldn't. The Order was too reactionary and disorganized at the moment to handle anything like that. Without Dumbledore's leadership, it was difficult to get the people to agree on anything more than clean-up after Death Eaters had blitzed a place and left wounded (or, more often bodies) behind.

Harry's hand came up to squeeze the bridge of his nose. Even if they knew for a fact that every room in the Malfoy Manor was housing a Death Eater, what could they do about it? The Ministry wouldn't lift a finger against someone like Lucius Malfoy. If the Order organized every wizard and witch at their disposal to form a raid, perhaps they could make a dent in the opposition, but this would be something completely different from their usual efforts. What would happen if someone like Shaklebolt captured a Death Eater? The Order didn't have a prison to hold them and Harry couldn't see most of the Order members throwing killing curses around, so the Death Eater would be handed over to the Ministry, as they usually were. But if the Order members were the aggressors, rather than defending muggles, what was the probability that the Death Eaters would stay in custody? Harry grimaced. Without catching a Death Eater in the act, they'd probably end up free quicker than the time it took to capture them.

He wanted to drop by the Malfoy's and deal out his own justice. Oh, how he wanted to. He wanted to rip that pretentious house down to the foundations and bury everyone inside it. They were killers and every minute they were allowed to roam free was another minute that they might kill again. But even he knew how impractical that was. The place was probably warded up tighter than Hogwarts by now and putting himself and his friends in danger in order to stop a few of the seemingly endless Death Eaters would accomplish less than nothing. They needed to focus on the horcurxes, not Death Eaters.

This information didn't help them at all.

He dropped his hand and looked back up at Derek, "Thanks for figuring that out. I'll pass that information on to, er, the person who can use it." The pinch of leftover suspicion cut off McGonagall's name before he voiced it. It never hurt to be cautious and the muggles didn't need to know who was behind the Order anyway.

"Thanks." He repeated, "I hope we can use that, but I think we're going to have to concentrate on those Horcruxes right now. If we don't find and destroy them, Voldemort is essentially invulnerable and as long as he's around I don't think anything we do about his followers will make a difference." He let out a deep sigh. "He just keeps recruiting more and more. We need to cut off the head if this snake is going to fall, not just chase the tail."

Derek cocked his head and slowly started, "That makes sense. Concentrate our resources where they'll be most effective." He paused, "Will your friends take care of these Death Eaters? What about the police?"

"My friends will take care of it." He replied shortly. It was probably a lie, but he didn't want either of the Malones worrying about it. "The 'police' won't do anything about it. The Malfoys are rather influencial."

Derek nodded, a knowing smile quirking his lips, "We know all about corrupt cops in Gotham."

Harry's eyebrows rose briefly, but he didn't question him. He didn't know much about America and at the moment didn't care to inquire. He cast _Tempus_ and found that it was nearing midnight. "Get some sleep guys." He included the silent Tommy in his directive, "We'll try the Ministry tomorrow and see if we can track down Snape."

0101010

Spine cracking as he stretched his arms above his head, Harry shook himself out of a yawn and shuffled into the kitchen to start breakfast.

It was still early – the sun had been up for a while, but the house was silent except for the sound of Ron's snores, barely heard through his bedroom door. Despite the summer weather, Grimauld Place never seemed to absorb the heat, even in midday, so it shouldn't have been a shock to feel the cold on his bare feet as he left the carpeted hall for the kitchen's wooden floors, but the still chill shivered up his toes, making them curl.

However, the cold was instantly forgotten as he looked up at the table, set for five, with eggs and hash steaming on each plate.

He licked his lips, grinning at the surprise. It was nice to see someone besides himself bothered to cook. He suspected it was one of the Malones rather than Ron or Hermione suddenly developing a hereto unknown desire to serve everyone breakfast.

He pulled out the nearest chair and lifted a fork, but hesitated a moment before digging in, looking around the empty kitchen, feeling a bit awkward to begin eating before the cook returned to join him. But his stomach was letting him know that it had been a long time since dinner and when no one appeared after a minute, he scooped up a forkful and indulged in the luxury of a meal someone else had fixed.

The garlic was a bit heavy, he decided as he made short work of the eggs and started in on the hash, blinking a few times as the food seemed to shift position on the table.

His plate swam out of focus and he shook his head trying to dislodge the sudden drowsiness creeping across him. And he shook it again as he realized he'd nearly fallen face-first into his breakfast. With a lurch, he stood up, swayed, and took a step away from the table.

Belatedly it occurred to him that something was wrong, but that thought had no sooner appeared when his balance deserted him. He was unconscious before he hit the floor.

010101010

A/N: Some background you might find interesting about this chapter. First, I didn't include the scene, but I thought about writing one where Tim goes out to collect lunch for Ron, Dick and himself and stumbles upon some sort of wrong-doing (pickpocket maybe?) and basically stops it and that's where he got the ipad from (from the bully/pickpocket/evil-doer). He turns it in to the campus police before they leave, but he's been internet-deprived for a whole day! He couldn't resist getting connected for a while before relinquishing the device. Oh, and I realize that technically ipads wouldn't be around during the HP time-frame, but I decided I didn't care :-)

Hermione's attitude toward breaking into a university may seem a bit weird, but I just thought she'd find it more disturbing than most of the other things she deals with on a regular basis. I mean, she's been mostly out of the muggle world for most of her life and has a definite star-struck attitude when it comes to professors, and a near reverential attitude towards books and learning, so the combination struck me as something that would make a muggle university something of a near sacred institution for her. Despite the war going on, she's still that witch who thinks learning is the highest goal in life, after all!

I appreciate all your feedback and thank you for the encouragement to keep going! I do want to re-iterate that this site sometimes has issues with getting the next chapter up and if you can't find it here after you get an alert, please check again in a few days (or check out my livejournal account which also has this story posted). Thanks for reading!


	10. A Death in the Family?

A/N: Reminder: Depending on who's Point of View it is,

Dick = Derek

Tim = Tommy

:-)

As usual, this is not Beta'd, so I apologize for any mistakes you see. Feel free to point them out to me!

**Chapter 10: A Death in the Family?**

Steam curled around the cramped room, seeping into the wooden paneling and threatening to turn the dust hidden there to mold. The surfaces had been scoured with cleaning spells, but a smell of perpetual mildew lingered.

"You should really dry that hair, Poppet, before it curls."

"Hmm?" Hermione lifted her head from the book propped over the sink, blinking at the steam-coated mirror. It was one of the more polite mirrors in the manor, but with the water vapor covering its surface, it was surprising it had ventured any remark. They usually didn't once they couldn't see a person to speak to.

In one hand Hermione still held the damp towel from her earlier bath and the other her wand. She'd been planning to hang the towel up and air out the room before it turned into a swamp, but the books she'd brought with her (just to glance at as she worked!) had drawn her in and she'd forgotten to finish.

And she now realized she'd forgotten to dry her hair too and it was making the back of her shirt damp. With a huff of irritation at herself and a final lingering look at her book, she started in on the humid air. One of these days she'd find a way to set a spell up that would permanently ventilate the shower, but for now, daily refreshing would have to do.

She paused to finish the page she'd been reading, flipped to a new one and turned back to dry out the shower curtain before allowing herself to read any further.

She wasn't ready for the trip the Ministry. The more she discovered, the more she found she still needed to know. There were trick buttons on the Ministry lifts! Like the Hogwarts stairs, the switched around and if you weren't careful you could end up on the wrong floor. What would they have done if she hadn't read about that and she led the Malones into the Auror's department? If they'd gone yesterday like they'd intended, she wouldn't have known about them and who knew what she'd find today if they just delayed their trip another day? She knew Harry was getting impatient and tracking down a few places that Voldemort might have stashed his soul-bits was extremely important, but rushing in without knowing what they were doing could be disastrous! A few more days couldn't hurt, surely?

The damp smell nearly gone, she gave the room a once-over with a few cleaning spells. It didn't noticeably help, but she was optimistic that repeated use would turn the porcelain from a muddy yellow to white eventually.

Satisfied at her morning ritual's completion, she snatched up her book and went in search of breakfast.

Attention focused on the chapter concerning regulations of explosive potions and ingredients within the Ministry, she nearly tripped over the body before she saw it. As it was, she flailed her arms and lost control of the book which went flying.

Regaining her balance, she looked down and choked on a gasp, all thoughts of the Ministry forgotten. "Harry!"

Her friend was lying awkwardly on his stomach, feet tangled as if he'd been turning for the door when he'd fallen, one arm outstretched for the door and the other hidden curved under his stomach.

She dropped to her knees and carefully rolled his sprawled figure over, fingers ghosting over his temples as she looked for a bump or bruise to show where he might have hit his head.

And that's when she noticed that he wasn't breathing.

"RON!" Heart in her throat, she screamed for her friend and tried to desperately think of what to do.

She needed to start him breathing again. That's what she needed to do. How? How? Ignoring the thundering of feet overhead, she sat back and grasped her wand, steadying it at Harry's throat. "_Anapneo,_" She cast, clearing Harry's airway.

There was no change except for a hint of blue creeping around Harry's lips.

Another body dropped beside her own and a dark head dipped forward, covering Harry's mouth and forcing air into his lungs. Two breaths then the head lifted and began chest compressions.

Hermione, wand still leveled at Harry's throat, felt her own lungs filling and deflating in rapid pants as if she could breath twice as fast and do it for both of them. "He's not breathing." She stated, as if Derek hadn't already figured that out and begun CPR. She lifted her eyes and they flew around the room, taking in the still steaming food spread out on the table and Tommy hovering in the doorway without seeing them, eyes snagging on Ron, "He's not…" She took a deep breath. "He's not chocking and he's not breathing."

01010101010

Tim surveyed the contents of his pack, searching for his favorite pair of blue jeans, and idly wondering about how the wizards did laundry when he heard Hermione shriek in distress, calling for Ron.

Leaving his pack and clad only in boxers and a T-shirt, Tim bolted for the door and then had to do a bit of complicated footwork to avoid crashing into a wild-eyed Ron in the hall.

Ron rushed down the stairs and Tim followed a bit more slowly, caution reasserting itself as the adrenaline spike dropped. He peered cautiously around the doorway into the kitchen, then fully entered as he saw what was happening. Dick, performing CPR on the unconscious Harry, didn't spare him a glance and Hermione zeroed in on Ron as if he wasn't there.

"He's not chocking and he's not breathing." She repeated.

Tim further entered the room. They didn't have the medical equipment at Grimauld House to deal with an emergency like this. They'd need to get Harry to a hospital right away. "We need to get Harry out of the house and call for an ambulance."

"What?" Ron spared him a distracted glance then turned back to Hermione, taking her by the shoulders, "What happened?"

"I don't know!" She practically wailed the words, "He was on the floor and not breathing when I found him!"

Ron's eyes flickered down to the unconscious man on the floor before returning to Hermione. His face was pale, but voice firm, "Run some diagnostic scans. Has he been cursed?"

"We need to get Harry to a hospital," Tim interjected, coming up beside Dick but not interrupting his steady rhythm. He'd have to take over for Dick soon if someone didn't get the ambulance called. He'd left his phone upstairs along with all the rest of his gear. Dick would have his on him somewhere and it'd be faster than running upstairs. "Where's your phone?"

"Jacket pocket. Left." Dick replied tersely, all his attention focused on keeping Harry alive.

"Poison!" Tim looked up as he snatched out the phone to see Hermione looking shocked and Ron glaring at the table.

They exchanged a wordless glance as Hermione followed Ron's gaze to the table and back. She gave a wordless snarl of frustration and anger and then called out, "_Accio_ bozar!"

Phone now secure, Tim moved to the door so that he could get reception, automatically ducking as something small whizzed past his ear.

Ron snagged whatever it was out of the air and dropped to kneel beside Harry's head. Harry's head was already tipped back, mouth open and so when Ron dropped what appeared to be a small stone between his lips, it fell back against his throat, triggering an involuntary gagging reflex in Harry's unconscious body. Dick nearly faltered in his rhythmic pressure on Harry's sternum, "What are you doing?"

Tim had also stopped in horrified incredulity. You just didn't shove something down the throat of a person who was having trouble breathing unless you were trying to kill them!

Before anyone could do much more, however, Harry convulsed once and Dick almost didn't succeed in pushing his form over onto his side in the recovery position before Harry started vomiting. The stone-like object didn't reappear, but some undigested scrambled eggs did along with a runny purple liquid. The violent motion stopped, but the purple liquid continued to dribble from between his lips and then followed a sobbing gasp.

Everyone froze as if afraid that Harry's intake of breath might cease again if they moved, but as if whatever had held him had been suddenly released, Harry sucked in another lung-full of air in an unsteady stream. And again. And again.

The tension drained from the room in an exhausting rush as Harry continued to give great heaving breaths between bouts of dry-heaves.

Tim hesitantly moved back into the kitchen, lowering the phone.

Dick stood slowly, rotating his wrists. He kept one eye on Harry as he moved over to the table to examine the food, still steaming as if time wasn't affecting it in the least.

Skirting the trio of magic users, Tim joined him. He reached over and snagged a napkin off the table, planning to wipe up the vomit, but Hermione beat him to it, whispering a spell that made the mess vanish. Now that was a handy bit of magic.

Now that the danger had passed, Harry should wake up any minute. If they had gotten to him in time to prevent brain damage. If the poison wasn't causing any other problems. If, if, if...

If he stayed unconscious… well, they'd deal with that as it came.

"He was poisoned, hm?" Dick muttered, eyeing the eggs and the glasses of untouched juice on the table. "How did that happen? Who has access to the house?"

Ron's head jerked over, his wand whipped out and he shouted, "_Stupify!_"

Despite having his back to Ron, Dick flung himself to the side at the first syllable and the red spell splashed harmlessly on the wall, curling the yellowed wall paper.

"Ron!" Hermione gasped, "What are you doing?"

"Who poisoned Harry? Who?" Ron's voice rose to apoplectic shouting and his face flushed, "Who is in the house besides us? Just yesterday Harry found out that these two are in contact with someone and now Harry is poisoned!"

Dick snagged a chair by the back and hefted, backing away from the enraged wizard while Tim put the table between himself and Ron. "We haven't done anything. We don't have any reason to hurt Harry and –" Dick was cut off as Ron shot another stunner at him, although this one went so far wide that he didn't even have to dodge.

The second spell would have been dead-on, but Dick and Tim kicked the table in sync and it absorbed the spell as it crashed down, narrowly missing Harry's ankle, and spilling the tableware and food across the floor.

Tim was disgusted with himself. This was the second time in as many days that he'd been threatened with magic and he didn't have his gear on! It was getting rather irritating. Was he going to have to sleep with it on now?

Tim remained behind the table as Dick hefted up the chair he'd nabbed and held it as if he'd decided to play at lion-taming. Considering how enraged Ron appeared to be, it was a rather apt description.

"Could someone have gotten in the house?" Derek's voice was even and soothing, despite the spells thrown his way.

"We have it under the Fidelius charm! No one except the five of us can get in here!"

That did make things more difficult, didn't it?

"Could the food have been delivered?" Dick ducked another red flash of light and Tim scooped up a fallen plate.

"How? An owl can't set the table!" He shot another stunner, seeming too enraged to think of a different spell – or perhaps unwilling to bring the house down. Or maybe simply unwilling to kill someone who was obviously not fighting back. Tim held on to some hope that it was simply that Ron didn't really believe his accusations and was just working off his frustration with the situation.

"And _he_," Ron pointed his wand at Tim, who ducked back reflectively, although no spell came his way, "wanted to drag Harry outside!"

"Wha-?" The groan from behind Ron distracted him and Tim took the opportunity to fling the plate, hitting Ron's wrist dead-on and causing him to lose his grip on his wand. He looked down at his empty hand as if he couldn't imagine how it had gotten that way and then shot Tim a slightly betrayed look before re-focusing on Harry. Since he hadn't immediately gone for his fallen wand, Tim refrained from sending the next plate soaring toward his head and just watched.

Harry's eyes were blinking and disoriented, but he was looking in Ron's general direction and starting to try to prop himself up. "Ron? What happened?" His voice was ragged, as if he'd been chocked and his vocal chords were sore, and a bruise was blooming over his right eye which was where he'd probably hit the floor when he'd passed out.

"You were poisoned." Ron bluntly told him as Hermione lent a hand to help Harry sit up. He wobbled for a moment, then steadied, and with Hermione's help regained his feet. His face was pasty and there was a sheen of sweat, but he gently disengaged from Hermione and managed to stay upright on his own.

"Poisoned?" He squinted around the room taking in the toppled table and spilled breakfast. The eggs were still steaming, although they were no longer neatly pilled on their plates. That ridiculous detail nearly made Tim snicker despite the situation and something of his amusement must have caught Ron's eye as he flushed and glared at them.

"Yes, these muggles tried to kill you!"

The amusement fled, "We did not!"

Ron crouched grabbing for his wand and Dick rapidly interjected, "We're not trying to kill you! Instead of shooting spells at us, stop and think! Is there any way a poisoned meal could get passed the Fidelius charm?"

"No!" Ron growled, his face turning a rather unpleasant shade of red once again.

A quick shake of her head indicated that Hermione agreed with her friend, although she looked more troubled than accusing, and she hadn't tried to attack yet either. Tim could see the ideas being discarded as she shuffled through scenarios in an effort to believe that he and Dick hadn't tried to kill Harry. He appreciated her faith, especially since he knew neither of them had done it, but unless someone came up with an idea soon, they were going to have to get out of the kitchen in a hurry.

"No," Harry's voice sounded horse and painful and as he licked is lips his face scrunched up as if finding a nasty taste. "Nobody can get into a –" He suddenly cut himself off as a funny expression crossed his face. Then his whole expression darkened into fury, "Kreature! I know you can hear me. Get in here now!"

A sharp crack rent the air and then a funny little creature was standing in the room, dressed in rags and glaring up at Harry, "Nasty master is calling Kreature?"

Tim's eyebrows flew upward and he racked his brain for what the wrinkly little humanoid creature might be. It stood no higher than Dick's waist, with pointed ears bent outward and filthy skin. Goblin, perhaps?

"Did you put a potion in that meal?" Harry demanded while Hermione's hands flew over her mouth in either shock or horror. Ron's wand, which he'd found and had pointed in Dick's general direction suddenly swiveled over to point at the being before them, "Answer me truthfully, Kreature."

At Harry's stern command Kreature spoke, tone wickedly gleeful, "Kreature did! Kreature did! Nasty, disgusting, traitorous master is getting what Mistress is wanting!" Its ears wiggled in some sort of spasm of delight.

Lowering his shielding chair, Dick asked, "Who is your Mistress?"

The creature turned and its face contorted into an expression of deep hatred as its eyes swept over Dick, "The muggle animal speaks to Kreature?" It spat on the floor, "Kreature doesn't answer animals, only to master who disgraces wonderful Mistress's home with-"

"Stop it." Harry demanded, "You will not speak like that. I don't want to hear you say anything like that about our guests again. Who told you to poison my food?"

Adopting a sulky attitude, Kreature confessed, "Mistress tells Kreature what to do."

Ron groaned, whole posture slumping, "The painting? Are you telling me the painting tried to murder Harry?" His hand came up to rub his face and his voice dropped to a muffled grumble, "I can't believe it. Even the paintings are out to get him."

"Is Mrs. Black, the painting your mistress? Is she the one who told you to put the potion in my food?" Harry asked, voice grim.

The creature gave a broken-toothed grin, "Clever Mistress is telling Kreature what needs doing."

"I didn't think paintings had that much autonomy," Hermione breathed, "They shouldn't be able to command a house elf."

It finally clicked as to what exactly the little creature before them was. Tim now remembered reading about the little helpers in the book on the plane. They were bound to families and could not disobey their 'masters'. He looked between the house elf and Harry. Although apparently they could try to murder them. The book had made them sound a lot less psychotic.

A deep sigh seemed to shake Harry as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Kreature, sit on that chair. Do not move from that chair. Do not do any magic. Do not speak. Do not try to hurt anyone in this house in any way. Just- just sit there." At Harry's order, the little elf glared and sullenly moved to the chair, sitting with its arms folded like a toddler who was sulking.

"We need to know if that painting is passing along orders from someone." Hermione's voice was filled with consternation, "It shouldn't be able to come up with something like this on its own."

"How do you suggest we do that?" Harry croaked, making a sharp, frustrated guesture. "We can't just ask her. She shrieks as soon as she sees any of us."

"What about…maybe polyjuice?"

Harry was shaking his head before she finished. "Takes too long to make."

Tim piped up moving out from behind the relative safety of the overturned table, "Does it make a difference who the painting sees? It sounds like it hates all of you, but is there someone it would like?"

Ron snorted, "She'd probably love You-know-who. Or maybe a Malfoy."

"She's a pure-blood bigot." Hermione explained. "She'd never talk to muggles or muggle born or," she looked at Harry, "half-bloods. It has to do with whether you have magical parents or not."

Tim nodded, "So none of you are pure-bloods? Do you know anyone who is? Is there some way she can tell if you brought in someone she'd never met before?"

Harry's expression turned thoughtful and he cocked his head at Ron. "What about you?"

Eyes widening, Ron squeaked out, "Me? What about me? I'm not talking to that miserable portrait! She knows who I am and will yell just as loud as every other time I've seen her."

"You _are_ a pure-blood," Hermione mused, "She might talk to you."

"No!" Ron denied, "She's never done so before. She just screams at everyone."

"Have you ever tried it before? You've only ever been around her with one of us or Sirius. If you go alone and flatter her, agree with whatever she says, then ask about whether she has other frames or not, she might answer you. What can it hurt?"

His whole body seemed to droop. "This is so unfair. Why can't we firecall Neville or someone?" But despite his grumbling, he shuffled off to the entry hall and Mrs. Black's curtained portrait.

010101010

Despite his aching limbs, Harry forced himself to move to the doorway to the entry hall. The bezor may have rid his body of whatever poison Kreature had given him, but the experience left him feeling like he'd developed a full-body case of arthritis and the flu. He'd only just woken up, but going back to bed for the rest of the day sounded extremely appealing.

He'd allow himself a long nap once they'd made sure it was safe to do so.

He looked back at the old elf feeling anger and sorrow roll around his stomach. He had no idea what he'd do about Kreature. The elf was simply too dangerous to leave by himself, but what could he do that would keep it from hurting one of his friends or anyone else?

Shaking his head, he returned his attention to Ron as the redhead reached the curtained alcove.

The curtain seemed to twitch as Ron approached as if an invisible hand brushed passed it, but otherwise gave no indication that it knew anyone was there. Ron jerked the curtain open and the woman immortalized behind it gave a start, squinting down at the wizard who'd disturbed her. "Who are you?" Her face twisted into a disdainful sneer, "You're one of those muggle-loving filth, aren't you?" Her voice got louder as she spoke, her eyes beginning to glitter with manic fervor.

"No, no!" Ron hastily interrupted, "I'm Ronald Weasly. I would never have anything to do with muggles or, erm, mudbloods." He shot an appoligetic glance back toward where Hermione, Harry, and the Malones crowded at the kitchen doorway, out of the portrait's line of sight. "I'm very anti-" He waved his hand vaguely, "all that stuff."

"Are you now?" The painted lady leaned forward as if to get a better look at him. "Those Weasleys were always a rather eccentric family. Not as old as the Blacks, of course," she sniffed and Ron visibly bit his tongue to keep quiet, "but they kept away from tainting their blood-line." She looked past him, up and down the empty hall, "There have been animals wandering around the manor. Can you believe it? I've been told the new head of our Noble House has been letting…" Her face contorted as she spat out, "_muggles _into the these very rooms! Such a thing hasn't been heard of for untold generations! It's unbelievably disgraceful!"

Ron nodded as if his head had been transformed into a bobble-toy, "Yeah, disgraceful. Absolutely. Hey, I was wondering if you might have another portrait somewhere? Maybe a in another house? You being so important and all."

The painting gave a disdainful humph and ignored the question, "In my day, undesirables such as that would never cross the manor threshold. A proper poisoning is the only way to deal with family members who disgrace the family name like that."

Ron paused and Harry felt his stomach give a funny twist.

Well. If Kreature had heard the Black Matriarch says something like that, could he have interpreted it as a command to poison Harry? Ron looked back at his friends and raised an eyebrow. There was a flurry of exchanged looks as everyone silently debated whether they needed more information, before Hermione made a shooing motion at him, indicating he should get back to it.

Ron took a deep breath, returned his attention to the portrait. When he next spoke, it sounded like he was attempting to speak like a Malfoy ingratiating himself to a rich politician. "Mrs. Black, I realize that this may be an impolite thing to ask, but would it be possible to give you a broader view of the world? A portrait of importance such as yourself shouldn't be forced to live solely within the confines of this…" he searched for the best word, "…infested manor, honorable and noble though it may be. Perhaps I could move one of your other portraits to a more appropriate location? To, uh, a gallery, perhaps? Or to…" He seemed to be struggling with ideas of where a Black portrait might want to hang "To…Gringrots?"

"Gringrots? Who would want to spend time among those revolting little goblins? No," Her voice dropped to a dreamy croon, "I should be among the Malfoy family galleries. I am related by marriage, you know."

"Oh, of course," Ron hastily agreed. "Where are you other frames? I'll have one moved right away."

Mrs. Black straightened in her posh chair, "Unfortunately, we weren't able to procure the permits for a second portrait before that unfortunate incident with the anaconda." Her fingers interlaced beneath her ample bosom and Ron's face turned a slightly sickly shade as she leaned forward more than was decent, "But now that you are here, perhaps something can be done about that. You could petition the Department for Preservation of Wizardom and see that I receive the proper recognition that I am due." Her coy smile looked even more hideous than her sneer.

"Uh, sure. I'll get right on that." Ron flicked her curtain closed and beat a hasty retreat.

"Wow. I'm glad we don't have anything like that back home." Tommy muttered beside Harry.

"They aren't all bad," Harry told him as the whole group moved back into the kitchen and the door was safely closed.

Kreature, obediently stuck to the chair in the middle of the trashed kitchen greeted them with a silent snarl before pointedly turning his head away. Harry sighed. "We're either going to have to make sure Kreature can't do something like that again or we're going to have to find a way to get rid of that portrait."

"Preferably both." Ron grumbled, righting a chair and slumping down into it.

"What's the problem with getting rid of the portrait?" Tommy asked, hopping up onto the counter beside the sink and letting his heels beat against the cupboards below him.

"It's stuck to the wall and no one's been able un-stick it." Hermione informed him, dragging another chair over to sit beside Ron. She flicked her wand over the mess on the floor and the poisoned (and still steaming) food vanished. With another flick the broken dishes were mended and on their way to stacking themselves in the sink.

Derek leaned up against a wall, watching the magic show with interest, "So you can't vanish it like you just did that mess?"

Harry frowned and absently ran his fingers over his own wand, "We couldn't without vanishing the wall behind it." He looked at Hermione, "Could we do that? Vanish the wall too, I mean?"

She looked up from what she was doing, the silverware levitating above the suds-filled sink. "I suppose so. If it's not a load-bearing wall, I guess we could."

"It wouldn't matter," Ron ran a hand through his hair, "This place is like the Burrow – it's too old and seeped in magic to let something like a missing wall hurt it." Harry thought of the gravity-defying Weasley home and could see why he might say that.

"That seems easy enough." Derek said thoughtfully, "But where do vanished things go? Could Kreature still get at it?"

"Well…" Harry began slowly, "It depends on the spell you use. There's a 'banishing' spell, that just relocates something." He demonstrated by banishing one of the chairs to the other side of the room. "It's kind of a low-powered teleportation spell. You can't do anything too big or move it too far. A Vanishing spell does make things disappear and you can't find the stuff again without magic, but it is sort of retrievable, if you do it right. However, some of the more advanced spells can make things permanently disappear."

Again, Harry looked to Hermione. She shrugged, "There are all sorts of theories about that. Some say things are un-made, others that there is some sort of pile in the center of the Earth or the middle of the sun. They say the lost items could be pushed into another dimension or turned into pure magic. No one really knows, but if you use a darker spell, things can't be retrieved. It's not Dark magic," she hastily added, "just kind of boarder-line. There was some discussion a few centuries ago to make those spells illegal because of suspicion that one of the more powerful wizards was using them to murder people, but no one ever proved anything, so the idea was dropped." She looked uncomfortable. "We could probably vanish the portrait, but maybe destroying it some other way would be better."

There was a thumping noise and Harry saw that Kreature had both hands gripping the edge of his seat and was rocking his body to make the chair bounce forward. His ragged teeth were bared and he looked like he was trying to make a slow-motion charge at Hermione. "Stop!" Harry ordered and the elf immediately froze. "Do not move that chair." The elf glared at him, but subsided. With a direct order to not harm Hermione, Harry didn't think Kreature could have done anything even if he'd reached her, but it was better to nip the attempt. They really were going to have to do something about the rebellious thing before he weaseled his way around Harry's orders.

The elf and the painting both. What could he do? Sirius had grown up around house elves and hadn't been able to get Kreature to obey him completely. They couldn't release it and Harry didn't want to kill him.

He rubbed his eyes. "Kreature, go to your cupboard and stay there until I call you." The irony in the fact that he was ordering anything to stay in a cupboard wasn't lost on him, but he honestly didn't think he had much choice. "Don't try to communicate with anyone. Don't try to leave the cupboard. Go."

The elf popped out of the kitchen, leaving the chair behind.

"We're going to have to do something about him." Ron's voice was grim.

"I know." He turned to Hermione. "How long would it take to brew the draught of Living Death."

She blanched, "That's very advanced potion making! I can't make that!" He noticed that she didn't try to say that he shouldn't use it on the house elf though.

He didn't argue with her. "Can we buy it?"

Her eyes flickered away and then back, "Maybe. But it'd be expensive."

He ran his fingers through his hair, no doubt leaving a tangled mess behind, "It might be worth it."

Bitting her lip, Hermione gave a slow nod, "I'll look into it."

With a sigh, he thanked her, "While you do that, I'll see about getting this wall taken care of." Hermione may not like it, but Vanishing the whole things sounded like the best idea at the moment. He'd have to make sure he didn't accidentally take part of the floor or ceiling with it, but it would be nice to have the malevolent thing out of his house. And then they'd deal with Kreature.

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A/N: You know, you wouldn't think that reading fantastic fiction would do anything other than inspire a writer to write, but I have to admit, when I come back to this after devouring a wonderful book, my writing seems is discouragingly poor in comparison. So that's my only (rather pathetic) excuse for why this chapter took so long. Maybe I should check out a few Mary-Sue-ish fics with no grammar and a misguided grasp of spelling rules and feel brilliant in comparison ;-)

As always, I thank you very, very much for the reviews! They are so encouraging!

P.S. The title of this chapter refers to the Portrait who sort of 'dies' in this chapter (or rather, between this chapter and the next). Next up - The Ministry! Finally!


	11. Bureaucracy at its Finest

**A/N: Before anyone points out the errors, I want to admit that I re-arranged some of the Ministry of Magic to better fit the flow of my story. It shouldn't be too noticeable, hopefully.**

Reminder: Dick is known as Derek Malone and Tim is Tommy Malone.

**Chapter 11 – Bureaucracy at its Finest**

Removing one prejudiced and vitriolic portrait had proved both easier and harder than Ron would have thought. Considering how much Sirius had hated the thing, it was hard to understand why he hadn't just done what they had and taken out the whole wall. Ron had cast a series of severing hexes along the edge of the ceiling, Harry doing the same along the floor, while Hermione battled with the curtain over the portrait. It didn't stop Mrs. Black from screaming and cursing something fierce, but it did muffle things and with the volume she managed to produce, every little bit helped.

In the end, the sitting room ended up considerably larger and the front entry had looked a bit lopsided (Ron actually preferred a bit less symmetry in his homes so thought it improved things, but from the way Hermione frowned in that direction, he thought he might be alone in that sentiment).

The muggles had disappeared sometime before the construction started and Ron was very determinedly not thinking about them because the nagging shame over how he and Harry had been treating them was something he really didn't want to face up to yet. Hadn't he been thinking just the other day that Harry had been a bit paranoid at accusing the Malones about working for the Ministry? And hadn't he been just as convinced as Hermione that they were probably as harmless and helpless as they looked? Derek had even been doing some sort of muggle thing to try to get Harry breathing again and then Ron had gone and tried to stun him for the second time in as many days. He'd attacked a muggle for no reason other than that he'd been frustrated.

That's not the kind of action he'd thought himself capable of.

No, he would think about that later. Much later.

Preferably after Harry woke back up again.

Ron grimaced and looked down at his sleeping friend. Bundled up in two quilts and a warming spell, ensconced between two fluffy pillows in the huge master bed, Harry should have looked quite cozy, but the grey pallor to his skin just made him look sickly instead. The skin around his eyes was starting to take a bruised look and the bump on his forehead looked dark and uncomfortable.

Ron shifted in his chair and uncrossed and re-crossed his arms, fingers drumming along his arm.

Harry had been the one to actually vanish the whole wall-plus-painting once it was detached from the rest of the house, something Ron had realized too late had been a bad idea. He should have known that Harry wouldn't be in top form after just having awakened from being poisoned. The wall had vanished and Harry had dropped to his knees with a groan, blinked up at them for a moment, then said, "I think I may have put a bit too much power into that spell," and promptly passed out.

One of these days Ron would remember that Harry wouldn't know how to complain about over-exerting himself even on his death bed.

He sighed and shifted again.

Hermione assured him that Harry was just exhausted and a bit of a nap would fix him right up, but Ron still felt he should keep vigil. If he'd volunteered to do the Vanishing spell, Harry wouldn't have collapsed, after all.

The door opening to admit a book-loving witch was a welcome distraction.

"I've been talking with Derek and Tommy," She began without preamble, voice hushed. "We think we have a plan for how to get access to the files we need at the Ministry. Derek's gone to the store to get some ingredients they need for making cookies."

Ron opened his mouth to ask why she'd let one of the Malones just leave like that, then closed it. He really didn't think he had much ground to stand on there. Then his brain caught up with what she'd said and he opened it again, "Cookies?"

"That's what Americans call biscuits."

That hadn't been what he'd been asking; he wasn't that ignorant. "I meant, why do they want to bake them? That seems kind of…random."

She wandered further into the room, smoothing down the quilt near Harry's feet, and offered Ron a secretive smile, "It's all part of the plan."

Ron found his lips twitching at her mischievous expression, "I see. Do I get to hear about this top-secret plan of yours? Involving 'cookies' no less?" His expression sobered, "The Ministry isn't exactly being run by You-know-who. Yet. But it's still dangerous. You need to be careful."

Her eyes softened, "I know. We'll be careful." She looked away, cast a quick spell to check on Harry's sleeping form, and then looked about the room. "Where's Harry's trunk? I'm going to need his invisibility cloak soon."

He silently pointed to the truck in clear view under the window and for a moment Hermione looked slightly flustered, but then her expression smoothed out and she proceeded to efficiently rummage through the disorder in their friend's school truck and retrieve a familiar length of shimmery fabric.

She turned to leave, then hesitated, cloak clutched tight against her stomach, "Be careful while we're gone, okay?"

Although she couldn't see it, Ron's lips quirked up in a bemused smile, "Wasn't that just my line?"

She looked back over her shoulder at him and her return smile seemed a bit sad, "Harry seems able to get poisoned in his own house, I don't think I'm being overly cautious."

Ron's own amusement faded and he looked down at his sleeping friend. "Yeah. We'll be fine. I'll watch out for him."

He didn't look back up as a whisper of cloth told him she'd vanished out the door.

With a heavy sigh, he settled back into his seat once more.

Yes, Harry had managed to get himself poisoned in his own home and until something was done about Kreature, there was always the possibility hanging over them that the old elf would manage something else. He'd essentially been the reason Sirus had died, after all.

Ron looked down at his knuckles, tracing the ridges thoughtfully. Harry's plan of using a Draught of the Living Death would probably be effective, but it took time to find a potion like that. Where would they have to end up going to buy it? Knockturn Alley?

He looked over at Harry again then drew his wand, letting it play across his fingers for a moment as he thought.

Something would have to be done about that elf. And they couldn't afford to wait.

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With complete nonchalance, Dick wandered into the small pub, wove through the tables, and on into the kitchen. The cook and assistant preparing for the lunch crowd both did a double take, but Dick just flashed them a mega-watt grin and continued right out the back door before anyone had time to demand he leave. He repeated the process with a gas station, another pub, and a used clothing store before deciding that he was not being followed by any flying invisible wizards this time.

A quick check of his phone and Dick found the nearest grocery store. He wandered in and headed for the restrooms. They were vacant and fairly clean, so he leaned up against a sink and dialed Oracle's number, interrupting the recording when it began, "Hey, it's me again."

Babs' distorted voice picked up, "Line secure."

"Do you have anything for me?"

"Your package was received and it's being processed. The results will be sent to this phone upon completion." With a brisk no-nonsense tone, she rattled off the facts.

"Excellent. Here's an update on our situation…"

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The blasted invisibility cloak was a lot harder to move around in than Hermione remembered. She'd grown enough that it no longer dragged on the ground, forcing her to hunch a bit and twice she'd nearly fallen on her face after stepping on the hem. Harry never seemed to have that kind of trouble with it and they were the same height! Still, even before they'd entered the Ministry, she'd found herself grateful for its presence. At the phone booth that dispensed the silver badges, not only had there been a line (apparently a great many of the Ministry employees liked to go out for lunch), but her badge had been less than subtle.

She frowned down at the words pinned to her shirt. 'Intent to Steal and Subvert'. Nobody had ever paid attention to what the badges said before that she could tell, but still... and she rather resented the 'subvert' part. Just because she felt a small level of contempt for the current corrupt administration didn't mean she intended any sort of subversion. Well, not much anyway. A few missing files would hardly throw the whole administration into chaos. Unfortunately. The badges were obviously getting a little creative in their interpretation of her motives.

She glanced sidewise at Derek and frowned even harder at the badge pinned to his chest. 'Pursuit of Justice' indeed. Hrmph. What had he been thinking of to make the phone booth spit that out? His little brother had just laughed on seeing it and then laughed harder when his own badge emerged to read 'Sidekick'. She had really wanted to ask about it, but then they'd been whisked away to join another hoard of people in line for the lifts and there hadn't been any opportunity.

The tall, hooked nosed gentleman beside her shifted his weight and she eased away as much as the confined space would allow. It would have been nice if the lift to the Ministry security check had been empty, but at least people hadn't crammed in so tightly that her invisible form was obvious. As it was, one woman in a yellow hat was giving the man behind her dark, suspicious looks after Hermione had bee

n forced to brush against her the second time.

Thankfully the lift stopped and expelled its passengers before anything else happened.

The wizards all lined up to pass through the wand weighing and Derek and Tommy joined them, Hermione's invisible presence at their side. They didn't have wands of their own to weigh, of course, but Tommy was carrying Hermione's. They'd discussed it before they'd left Grimauld Place and decided that it would be better to have the young kid be the wizard, escorted by his older muggle brother in case they ran into trouble. No one would expect Tommy to know how to cast many spells or for Derek to know how things worked at all. In the end, they'd smuggle in Hermione's wand with no one the wiser.

And that part of the plan worked perfectly. The bored clerk at the counter took the wand, gave it a casual weighing, and didn't even look at Derek as he waved them through.

Hermione, tense and deliberately keeping herself from fidgeting, felt her breath escape in a silent sigh of relief. She'd been worried that the wand weighing (which was not well documented at all!) would detect that Tommy wasn't the wand's owner. But now that the process was done and she thought about it more clearly, that had been a pretty silly fear. Wands changed hands all the time and a kid Tommy's age could very well have gotten his from an older family member.

She was still extremely glad she hadn't been forced to use the dungbomb she'd been clutching. Back at Grimauld Place she'd argued that it would be a perfect distraction if they'd needed to leave in a hurry, but standing at the security checkpoint with at least four aurors within shouting distance made her wish she'd grabbed something with a bit more oomph. Not having her wand at hand was making her feel quite vulnerable. But as soon as the Malones were waved through the gate, she put the dungbomb back in her satchel and followed as first Tommy, then Derek, and finally herself passed through the slim gate beside the clerk.

The clerk was already handing Tommy back 'his' wand when the whole vast room let out an ear-splitting shriek. Hermione wasn't the only person to nearly leap right out of her skin at the dreadful noise, but she was probably the only person to then break out in a cold sweat as her heart migrated right up into her throat.

The noise stopped as quickly as it started, leaving a silence so sudden that for a moment she wondered whether a silencing spell had been cast over the entire room, but that thought vanished as she noticed that the slim, unimposing gate that she's just passed through was lit up like one of the twin's fireworks.

Somehow she'd been detected. Was it the cloak? Her personal magic signature? The dungbomb? In the end it didn't matter – she was going to end up in a Ministry detention cell for questioning. Merlin, she needed her wand!

The four aurors she'd spotted earlier and three more had converged in to the suddenly clear space surround Hermione, the Malones, and one frightened looking clerk. Tommy now had her wand in his hand, which momentarily surprised her as a second ago it had been in the clerk's hand, but apparently he'd had the presence of mind to snatch it from the man even as the alarms sounded. The relief Hermione felt nearly left her shaky and she sidled closer to him in the hopes that she could figure out a way to get it from him without revealing her location. With all the aurors about, her dungbomb looked like a pitiful defense and if they were going to escape, they'd need her armed.

"Officer, what seems to be the problem?" Derek asked in a calm, innocent tone. Hermione glanced away from her wand to see him giving the most aggressive looking auror a look of polite bemusement.

"This is the Ministry of Magic! Did you think you could smuggle something in without our noticing?" The man Derek had addressed boomed out, wand pointed insistently at Derek and flanked by two other steady wands, also pointed at him. In fact, every wand was pointed at him, leaving Tommy within the circle of aurors, but not actively targeted - which meant there was a good chance they might not notice when Hermione tried to get her wand back!

"Smuggling?" Derek's forehead wrinkled, "What do you mean?"

Hermione brushed her cloaked hand against Tommy's arm to let him know that she was there. His blue eyes flicked her direction, looking through her invisible form, but otherwise he didn't make any move to acknowledge her presence. He did, however, move his arm so that the wand lay along the outside of his thigh, as close to Hermione as he could get it without actually extending it in her direction. Now, the question remained: how to get it from him without sliding her hand out of the cloak?

The clerk had apparently decided that he wasn't in danger of suddenly being in the middle of a duel of deadly magic and stood up out of his booth, chest puffed out and a thoroughly outraged expression on his face, "You tried to get a second wand through here! Everyone knows you can't get past the weighing booths without turning in your wand!" His voice dropped to a clearly resentful mutter, "Trying to pass yourself off as a muggle. How disgusting."

"A muggle, eh?" The lead auror snorted then extended his empty hand, "Well hand the wand over, nice and slow, and we won't have to stun you."

Derek cocked his head, "I don't have a wand, but -"

He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence before one of the aurors beside the leader called out "_Accio_ wand!"

Beside her, Tommy started as the wand in his hand flew out to the auror, "Hey!" Hermione's heart dropped out of her throat and ended up as a lump of cast iron in her stomach as she watched her wand sail through the air.

The auror, mustache bristling in annoyance, snatched it up before it hit him the face. There was a collective moment of consternation from the aurors, then both Tommy and Derek started speaking right over the top of each other.

"I told you!"

"That's mine!"

"I don't have a wand."

"You can't take that!"

"Your alarms must be faulty."

"I need that back!" That last sentence ended on a wailing note and Hermione did a double take – was Tommy about to cry? She was torn between feeling that the kid was doing an impressive acting job and concern that he wasn't acting at all.

"Can my brother have his wand back? He's kind of attached to it." Derek's statement was punctuated by a sniffle as Tommy lifted soulful eyes to the lead auror. The man pursed his lips and looked uncomfortable as he nodded to the mustached man beside him. With a reluctant motion, Hermione's wand was extended and Tommy stepped forward to snatch it back then cradle protectively against his chest.

"You must have a wand on you somewhere," The clerk from the security booth was leaning forward as if he were about to physically start searching Derek, but the lead auror waved him back.

Then, without warning, the man cast another spell, this time silently, and Derek grimaced as he flashed blue for half a second. The aurors around them visibly relaxed, one going so far as to put his wand away. "Well, son, it looks like you really are a muggle." The lead auror grumbled out, sounding far too disappointed with that discovery.

"But, but, the alarms!" The clerk stammered, "He set off the alarms! He has to be carrying a wand!"

"No, no, no." A third auror, whip thin and with graying hair, "There've been new measures put in place. It was probably something other than a wand."

The lead auror was looking like he'd swallowed a flobberworm as he asked Derek in a patronizing tone, "Did someone give you something, son? Did someone ask you to carry something into here? There are some bad men out there and they might be trying to use you bring in something dangerous."

Despite the situation, Hermione's nose wrinkled in disgust at the man's attitude. Derek was older than she was, clearly an adult, and this man was acting like he was about Tommy's age.

Derek's eyes widened into a look of horror, "Really? He seemed so nice too…" Reaching into an inner pocket, Derek removed something small and appeared to gaze at it forlornly.

Every auror in the circle, a good portion of the gawking bystanders, and one invisible witch craned their heads to see what Derek was holding, but before anyone saw anything other than a hint of shining metal, he clenched his fist around it hiding it from view, "Well, there's only one way to find out if this is what set off your alarms or not…" And with that he turned to face the gate.

Hermione, distracted by trying to figure out what Derek was holding, nearly missed her cue and had to do a quick jog to get to Derek's side before he reached the gate. Fortunately for all of them, he was moving slowly, as if weighed down by whatever was in his fist. He slowly extended his hand and Hermione carefully moved with him, passing through the gate along with his fist and setting off the alarms again. They were just as ear-piercing as before, but since Hermione was expecting them, this time she didn't startle. Under the auror's watchful eyes, Derek waved his fist through the gate, once, then twice, setting off the alarms each time before he (and his invisible shadow) returned to main group.

"Well, gentlemen, I think this is definitely your culprit." And with that, Derek deposited his object into the lead auror's hand.

It was a coin. Larger around than a knut, but slimmer, made of sliver and stamped with the face of a man. Muggle money? Hermione wondered if she was the only person to recognize it (and even she couldn't have given the coin's name or value).

The auror looked doubtfully down at the simple coin, poking it with the end of his wand before slowly turning it over and examining every side.

Hermione frowned as the coin was spun around. Wasn't there supposed to be something different on the back side? She was sure that American muggle coins all had faces on one side and something else on the other, but this one had a face on both sides…

For the second time, she nearly missed her cue and had to scramble back over to the gate as the auror took the coin and tested it a few time himself. She was panting with a combination of exertion and nerves before the man was satisfied.

At this point all the aurors were trying to get a good look at the coin and no one was really paying Derek or Tommy much attention, so she risked leaving the gate to quickly slide next to the boy holding her wand. Again, she brushed against his arm to indicate she was there.

In a nearly inaudible whisper, Tommy hissed, "Wait. We can't risk making them suspicious. If-"

He cut off as the lead auror turned his attention back to the muggles, "What is this?" He waved the coin at them, "What was it supposed to do?"

Derek shrugged. "I have no idea. There was just this nice man outside the Ministry and he told me that I needed to hold that to get inside. We've never been here before, so I just thought he was being nice."

The man's lip curled as someone else snorted and a distinct muttering of "Muggles!" could be heard from the circling bystanders.

"What did the man look like?"

Derek proceeded to give a detailed description of a dark-skinned man with a scar running down his left cheek and hooking across his temple. Hermione had no idea who he was describing, but several of the aurors were nodding and one had taken out a quill and was making detailed notes. By the time Derek wound down with his description, most of the crowd had drifted away, probably disappointed that there hadn't been more action.

"Well, son, no harm done, it looks like," The head auror was back to a condescending but more friendly tone as he nodded to the aurors around him, apparently the signal to get back to their posts as they all faded away. "I'll just get this looked at by some professionals. You've got to be more careful in the future. Don't accept things from strangers and don't go around trusting people like that. Even wizards can go bad." With that sage advice, he turned and jogged off down one of the many halls out of the atrium, leaving the Malones and Hermione free to go on their way.

From behind her cloak, Hermione reached out and pinched Derek's sleeve and gave a gentle tug in the direction they needed to go, then did the same to Tommy. They both casually walked away from the security checkpoint and down the first of several corridors. The second they were out of sight from the crowds, Tommy extended the wand and Hermione's hand emerged from the cloak to snatch it up.

For the first time in nearly three quarters of an hour, she felt the tension in her shoulders loosen. Their plan may have smuggled in her wand, but she was never doing something like that again. Next time they needed to sneak into the Ministry, someone else could donate their wand and hide with just a flimsy piece of fabric between them and capture.

She felt a tug on her cloak and saw that Tommy had snagged a fold and pulled next to him so that it didn't look like he was clutching something invisible. With a low voice he muttered, "Lead on, my lady."

Although they couldn't see it, she nodded and carefully began their trek through the maze of Ministry offices.

Now that the crisis had passed, Hermione was able to appreciate how well it had ended up going. Derek hadn't panicked and his quick thinking had managed to pull up a semi-believable explanation that the aurors had been able to swallow.

So she was feeling decidedly more cheerful about the whole operation as she led them through the Department of Herbs and Agriculture, passed the Department of Regulation of Mildly Toxic and Mildly Addictive Substances, around the Legal Department of Apothecaries and Potioners. She was just heading into the Department for Advocacy of the Rights of Possibly Sentient Plants when the constant pressure from Tommy's hold on her cloak turned into a sharp tug and he let out a pointed cough. She immediately stopped and turned to face him, wand still griped tightly in one hand, hoping he hadn't spotted trouble. Then she did a double take before looking wildly about as her heart leapt up into a sprint. Oh, Merlin – she'd somehow lost one of her Muggles!

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As they left the security checkpoint and its accompanying guards behind, Dick found himself quite pleased with how the situation had turned out. They'd had a minor hiccup, but Hermione had caught onto his plan quickly enough that they hadn't needed to resort to plan 'B', which, since in involved Dick being taken into custody (and subsequent escape, of course) while his 'clueless younger brother' and invisible friend carried out the original plan, he was quite happy to have avoided that course of action.

He wasn't worried about the wizards discovering that they'd confiscated a bit of worthless metal. He knew how people acted when presented with puzzles (he'd certainly seen enough reactions in Gotham – from detectives to scientists to the ordinary Joe); they'd worry at it from all angles before they thought to re-test the already-proven 'facts'. The quarter had obviously set off the alarms, so there was either something wrong with the alarms or something suspicious about the two-headed quarter. If anyone ever thought of a third option, they'd be long gone by that time. And Bruce wouldn't mind getting him another trick coin when they got back to the States.

They turned a corner and the hum of conversation dropped as they left a larger corridor to enter a narrower and less populated on. The floors were polished tile and the walls lined with paneling, but it couldn't quite be mistaken for an old-fashioned muggle office building. Even overlooking the frequent paper airplanes zipping by, the creative outfits of the people, and the occasional moving portrait, the hall still wouldn't have fooled any muggle into thinking it was normal. It, like every other building Dick had been inside that had been built by a wizard, seemed to have an allergy to square corners and straight lines. The floor didn't heave drunkenly like the Weasley Wizard Wheezes shop or have the soft, squat feel of the tavern from London or the slightly menacing air and sharp edges from Grimauld Place…no, it was more subtle than any of those, but it still wasn't quite right.

As if to punctuate that thought, a door which hadn't been there a moment before, carved itself out of the wall, spat out a rumpled old man who turned and began swearing at the opening in French. The door then vanished back into the wall again, but the Frenchman continued to swear, raising a fist and pounding on the wall. Dick briefly entertained the idea of stopping to ask the man if he needed help, but quickly discarded the idea. He did make a note of several of the more creative insults (involving hydras and something called 'flobberworms') before turned down another corridor and left the man behind.

The offices down the current hallway were mostly empty, although, like the hall itself, each strange enough in themselves to never be mistaken for muggle offices. Dick reflexively glanced in through the door windows as they passed each office.

Most were empty, although one or two had someone bent over piles of paperwork, feathered pens busily scribbling out notes or signatures or whatever else they were engaged in. No one took any notice of Dick as he walked by.

It was the seventeenth door down, on the left, where he saw something that struck him as worth noting and Dick's feet actually took him forward a few more steps down the hall before his brain caught up with what he'd seen and he abruptly halted. Tim immediately craned his head back, eyebrow lifted in query, but continued walking down the hall, so Dick surmised that Hermione probably hadn't noticed him stop yet. Dick did a quick survey of their surroundings and decided it should be fine for Tim to casually wait next to one of the doors. There was a steady stream of foot traffic, but whether they were wizards and witches or not, people were people and if Tim looked like he was supposed to be there it wasn't likely that anyone would question him.

He flicked Tim a 'wait' sign and shot a quick look at the doorway over his shoulder, then looked back to see Tim incline his head in acknowledgment.

Satisfied, Dick re-traced his steps and slipped into the office which held a child, one woman in a standard black robe and another lady dressed all in pink.

01010101010

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! And for Reviewing! I can't tell you how motivating it is to hear that some of you enjoyed this :-)

As a bit of background trivia for this chapter, the coin Dick gave the Aurors was a two-headed coin used for tricking Two-Face.


	12. Ministry Toady

**A/N: Reminder: Dick = Derek and Tim = Tommy**

**I would like to extend a huge THANK YOU to Jenny who Beta'd this for me and offered several suggestions which I think will improve this story greatly. **

**Chapter 12 – Ministry Toady**

There hadn't been anything obviously wrong with the scene when Dick had passed by. A plump woman, dressed in an unflattering shade of pink addressing another woman wearing a standard black robe with her small daughter pressed to her side. It was the expressions on their faces that struck Dick viscerally enough that he risked their mission to interfere in something that was obviously none of his business.

The woman in the black robe had her daughter pressed to her side, the child's face hidden in her robe, and she wore an expression of honest fear in her eyes. The woman in pink stood before her, leaning in close with a look of malicious glee. It was that combination of expressions which had stopped Dick in his tracks. He'd seen that exact same gleeful pleasure in the Joker whenever the madman had a person strapped to a bomb. Or tied to a guillotine or dangling over a vat of acid or just about any other position of helplessness – it was the expression of someone taking vicious pleasure in another's pain. And he'd faced far too many victims of far too many crimes not to recognize the terror of someone who felt helpless in the face of that kind horror. Whatever was going on in that office, it wasn't good and Dick wasn't about to let that pass without seeing if he could do something about it.

So he signaled to Tim to wait and back-peddled the few steps to the office door.

It swung open silently and the two women were too focused on each other to notice him entering, but the small child turned her head far enough for Dick to see a tear-stained cheek and one faintly yellow eye peak up at him.

"-I'm afraid that it would simply be unsafe for the public to be exposed to a disease ridden animal like that." The Pink Woman's painted lips curled up, showing far too many teeth for the expression to be labeled a smile.

"She is not an animal."The mother's shaky rejoinder was accompanied by a soothing rub against to her daughter's back as the child once again hid her face from view. "And she's perfectly safe during working hours. None of the neighbors have even complained about the noise and -"

"I'm afraid that the Ministry must do its utmost to protect the _human_ population that it represents." The false sympathy in her voice clashed horribly with her gleaming eyes and the not-smile that seemed fixed over her mouth.

"But -"

The Pink Woman made a strange sort of throat clearing / coughing sound, "Hem, Hem, Please don't interrupt. It's quite rude, you know." She smoothed down the non-existent wrinkles in her jacket, "I'm afraid that while you house a dangerous animal on your premises, the Ministry will not be able to renew your permit for business."

"No! Please, my baby is not dangerous to anyone. We need that permit!"

"Excuse me," Dick politely interjected before the Mother could break down into the tears her voice threatened, "There appears to be some difference of opinion here. Perhaps I can help resolve the conflict?"

The Pink Woman's head swiveled and eyes narrowed to a suspicious glare, taking in Dick's baggy sweatshirt and wrinkled jeans. Her 'smile' remained firmly in place.

With the air of someone grasping a life-line, the Mother spoke up, nearly slurring her words in her haste to get them out, "Please, my baby isn't dangerous and we need this permit to keep our shop open and we –"

"Who are you?" The Pink Lady demanded.

Dick sent her a mega-watt smile and wandered a bit closer, "I'm on the Committee for Support and Satisfaction of all Small Businesses"

The smile finally dropped of the woman's face as she produced a narrow-eyed frown, "I've never heard of it." The woman's eyes made another sweep over Dick's clothes, "What are you doing here?"

"Well, there seems to be some dissatisfaction going on here, so I'm here to smooth things over." He reached the side of the family, positioning himself beside the mother on the child's other side, in a silent gesture of support. The child twisted her head to peak up at him again and he gave her a wink. A shy gap-toothed grin was his reward before the face disappeared back into her mother's robes again. "Would you care to explain why you are causing such ripples of dissatisfaction that I was pulled out of an important meeting to come deal with it?"

The Pink Lady drew herself up, "Do you know who I am? I am the Undersecretary to the Minister Himself! I am performing an extremely important duty in the service of the protection of the entire Wizarding world!" Her lips curled up in a sneer as her eyes lingered on the 'tattoo' curling up Dick's neck, "No one with any sense of propriety would ever hire such an undignified wizard like you. This Ministry is a beacon of structure and purity. You are obviously not a member of the great families who have set their hearts and magic on preserving the heritage of our great society." She visibly attempted to calm herself, "I demand that you leave at once."

"That won't be possible." Dick dismissed the order with a disinterested flick of his hand and then dismissed the woman entirely by turning to smile at the other lady, "You say you need a form?"

Pink Lady sputtered as the Mother pointed to a stack of rolled up scrolls on the desk a couple feet behind the Ministry official. "We need one of those to display in our shop or we won't be legally allowed to keep our doors open. Please, could you..." She trailed off and looked away.

Well, that would be easy enough. He'd been afraid that she would have needed something magically signed or filed or something actually complicated.

He turned back to the woman in pink who now had her wand out and was sending him a thunderous scowl. He sidled a bit closer to her, flashing another blinding smile. "I have no doubt that you have an excellent reason for your caution, Madam. What exactly seems to be the problem?"

The wand twisted to point at the Mother and Dick tensed, but instead of a spell, the Pink Woman cried out, "That is a werewolf!" Dick actually paused at that announcement. He hadn't truly cared what the problem was, just known that the woman in Pink was being unnecessarily cruel and enjoying it, but...a werewolf? He looked back at the Mother, thinking of the clinical description of werewolves he'd read in the plane. Mindless, vicious, with a contagious disease activated by moonlight. A monster to be avoided at all costs.

And then Dick realized he'd been mistaken. It wasn't the mother but the child that was being pointed at.

He frowned at the little girl and her mother misinterpreted that because she immediately broke into a panicked explanation, "She's not dangerous! We keep her locked up in her bedroom on the full moon and it's been fully warded and we even lined the windows with silver." She gave Dick a pleading look, then repeated, "We're working on getting the Wolfsbane potion. She's not dangerous to anyone."

Dick looked at her, her mouth lined with fatigue and the hope fading from her eyes. He looked at the child, the curled hair and tiny hands clamped in the folds of her mother's robes. Then he looked at the Pink lady, a curl of satisfaction creeping over her lips and the glint of contempt in her eyes.

And he thought about what really made a person a monster.

With a sudden move, Dick was up inside Pink Lady's personal space, so close he could have headbutted her if he'd wanted instead of murmuring, "I know a monster when I see one."

The woman reflexively tried to take a step back, away from him, and Dick's foot was right there, hooking behind her ankle. Her arms flung wide as she tried to regain her balance and Dick grabbed her flailing arm. But instead of helping to steady her, he tugged just enough to guide her decent. With a negligible pressure, her body slipped sideways and the back of her head contacted the edge of the desk. It was a glancing blow, calculated to stun, not break her neck, and the breath she'd been sucking in to scream left her in an undignified grunt.

Dick followed her down, keeping one hand on her arm. Crouching by her side, back to the small family, Dick made soothing noises as he placed his hand along her neck as if checking for a pulse. Eight seconds of pressure on the carotid artery and the Ministry Undersecretary's dazed eyes rolled back into her head as she passed out.

Dick sat back on his heels and looked over his shoulder. The mother had a hand clasped to her mouth and the little girl was watching him with wide eyes. He gave them both a cheerful smile, "It's fine, she just tripped." He rose smoothly to his feet, swiping one of the scrolls off the desk as he went.

Handing it to the Mother, he advised, "You better call a doctor."

"But-" She looked at the scroll and then to the downed Pink Lady, "But won't she-"

Dick shook his head, "Stick around, tell the doctors and everyone else what happened. Don't run off like a fugitive. Believe me, she'll want this whole thing forgotten. If you get your story in first, she'll leave you alone, not wanting to risk losing face with her boss and co-workers, but if you try to disappear, she'll either try to get you arrested for assault or quietly hound you forever in revenge for seeing something like this." He knew far too many people just that petty. "Trust me."

She looked at him and silently nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. The scroll vanished into her robes.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Where could she have lost Derek? Had he taken a wrong turn? Had he been stopped by one of those aurors and she just hadn't noticed? Why hadn't she been paying attention?

She stepped back the way they'd come, and jolted to a halt as she realized that Tommy, still clutching her cloak, was tugging her in another direction. She looked around, but no one was terribly close, so she leaned in and whispered, "What? Did you see where your brother went?"

He glanced around as well, still tugging her along until they'd reached a blank stretch of wall, "Wait," he breathed, then settled against the wall with a bored slouch that every male teenager seemed to instinctively know how to pull off.

Incredulously, Hermione stared at him. "Wait? Wait for what? Your brother is missing!" That last word rose to an inadvisable volume and she pressed her lips together after it as if squeezing them together could retroactively quiet the words.

Blue eyes shot a quick glare in her general direction before the bored expression returned. With barely moving lips he said, "He'll be right back."

Breath hissing between her teeth, Hermione contemplated whether she should leave Tommy waiting there while she went hunting for Derek or erect a privacy bubble around them so they could have a decent conversation. She didn't want to use any more magic than she had to while at the Ministry – she had no idea what kind of detection spells might be woven into the very walls of the vast complex, but she didn't think that leaving the one muggle she still knew the location of alone would be a wise choice either.

In the end she settled for continuing to whisper, "Where did he go? Did you see what happened? Why are we waiting?"

He responded with an insolent shrug, then seemed decide to clarify because he added, "I don't know, but he said to wait here, so he should be back soon."

Just when she'd been thinking about how impressed she was at how the Malones had been handling everything, they went and acted like this!

But it didn't seem like she had many options. It was either wait and hope Tommy was right or wander off and hope to somehow to run into Derek. With a nearly silent huff, she joined the younger teen up against the wall and gave the oblivious boy a very displeased glower.

The wait was longer than she would have liked, but shorter than she'd feared. Less than ten minutes after she'd settled in to wait the door to the nearest office opened and Derek stepped out – followed by a tearful woman and a young girl. What had he been doing?

"Thank you so much!" The slender witch beamed through her tears.

Derek patted her shoulder and flashed her a dimpled smile, "I really didn't do much, ma'am, but you're welcome."

"If you ever need fresh potion ingredients, you come to me! I'll get them for you at cost!"

"Thank you, I'll definitely keep you in mind."

Leaving her place by the wall, Hermione quickly walked up beside Derek, ready to take him to task once the witch and her kid got out of ear-shot.

As she stood there, she glanced in to the vacated office and then did a double take, all thoughts of Derek momentarily vanished as she took in the sight of an unconscious Dolores Umbridge stretched out on the floor.

How had that happened?

She glanced at Derek, still patting the woman on the back, and then looked at the inelegantly sprawled woman in the office floor. She was getting the story about this even if she had to steal some Veritaserum to pry it out of him later.

Spirits inexplicably higher than moments ago, she slipped into the office, ignoring the fact that she'd made the door open and close 'by itself'. The scene was just too pleasing to not get a closer look. This woman had made their fifth year miserable – especially for Harry. She hadn't forgotten how willing the woman had been to use the Cruciatus curse on one of her best friend. She noted with satisfaction that the woman's blond hair had been marred by a streak of blood. Normally she wasn't all that blood-thirsty, but for this particular woman she made an exception.

Imprinting the whole scene on her memory with plans to share exactly how undignified the woman looked sprawled out like that with Harry and Ron, something caught her eye. Umbridge was wearing a bracelet around her left wrist – no, not a bracelet, a key-chain with three delicate silver keys attached. It wouldn't have even been noticable if a bit of green hasn't caught the light. Hermione had never seen Umbridge to wear any color other than that hideous pink. The green clashed rather alarmingly and that frog-faced woman had always seemed to care about co-ordinating her jewlry (even if it still always turned out ugly. And frequently pink.). She bent down to take a closer look.

It was thick gold chain, studded with emeralds, and horribly gaudy. The keys were all nearly identical, flat, unadorned bases with stubby shafts and simple jagged teeth.

She sat back on her heels, eyes still on the jewelry, frowning. Umbridge was the Ministry Undersecretary. Could she have Master Keys? That could prove awfully useful...

Hermione slowly reached for the keys, feeling a surprising level of reluctance to just snatch them up. Her finger tips began to tremble as the crept closer and she had to fight the urge to just leave the keys where they were. Licking her lips, her finger brushed the bracelet clasp and then she really did jerk her hand back as slimy chill streaked up her hand.

She rubbed her hand vigorously against her thigh even though the sensation vanished as soon as she'd moved far enough away.

Whatever magic was on that gold had felt disgusting and cold. Like she imagined a Dementor's arm might feel.

How did Umbridge stand having something that nasty up against her skin? That had been revolting. With a shake of her head, she took out her wand and whispered, "Alohomora." The clasp unlocked and the bracelet pooled beneath Umbridge's prone arm. Pinching Umbridge's thumb, Hermione raised the woman's arm off the bracelet with the same expression she might use when forced to touch a slimy piece of rotting fish. A quick levitating charm collected the keys and bracelet and she guided the whole thing into her satchel before letting Umbridge's arm flop back to the ground.

Yuck. She had a very distinct urge to go wash her hands.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Sheri tidied the papers on her desk, readjusting her empty in-box so that it was perfectly square with the corner of her desk. The box was usually empty in the mornings as people generally checked files out in the morning and returned them for re-filing in the afternoon, but it somehow always managed to shift sometime before noon, as if the left corner was trying to make a slow-motion dash for the edge of the desk. She'd taken the thing down to the Magical Artifacts Office twice and both times they'd assured her that the in-box was perfectly mundane. It didn't even have a magical paint job. But still the thing crept out of position each day.

It had occurred to her the other day that the problem wasn't the in-box, but her desk instead. Perhaps it had some sort of in-box repelling charm? It wouldn't surprise her in the least. The darn thing had given her a splinter two weeks ago and was probably seeped in dark magic. Unfortunately her Charms work had always been poor and she didn't trust herself to do a shrinking spell or a Feather-light on the desk so she was still working out how to get the thing down to the Magical Artifacts Office without her boss noticing. That woman had no concept of how much damage a cursed desk might do. The last time Sheri had brought up the problem, her boss had insisted that she was just imaging things. She'd like to see the woman say as much after sitting at the desk and day after day seeing her in-box misalign itself again and again.

Today she chanced a sticking charm, and was pleased to see it seemed to work correctly. Potions had always been more her thing and she could think of several that would glue the box to the desk permanently, but potion ingredients cost money and her husband would be less than impressed if she spent her meager paycheck on something so frivolous.

Satisfied that the in-box would behave for the next few hours at least, she returned her attention to her files.

Someone had managed to mix the records for the McDonalds in with the MacDonalds and it was going to be a full day's work separating them back out again. Honestly, who would be that stupid? The two families lived on separate sides of the British Isles and hadn't even intermarried for thirteen generations.

She didn't look up when her door opened, assuming it to be another memo. She somehow ended up on a list that sent out a dozen memos a day for such exciting trivialities as the level of ink in storage and the whether the Fountain of Good Cheer in the Cafeteria had been infested with Gillyglows again. Therefore she was understandably surprised when someone cleared their throat to get her attention.

"Excuse me." A young man wearing an apologetic expression and muggle-styled clothes stood in her doorway, "I'm looking for information on my uncle's estate. It seems I inherited it, but no one in our family has talked to Uncle Wally for years."

"Oh." She said for lack of a better response, blinking at him. Normally people who need information like that go to the Estates and Properties Office and fill out the requisition paperwork, which gets passed onto the Committee for Determining Essential Estate Ownership Distribution which then passed the forms (and the additional seal of approval) on to the Sub-Committee Devoted to Routing Essential Estate Ownership Information. Then she'd be notified to pull the file and pass it along to the Working Group Commissioned for Review of Proper File Retrieval. She wasn't sure where the files went after that, but she was pretty sure that the people who were looking for the information eventually got it. Or at least most of it. Sometimes the paperwork got a bit lost in the shuffle, but as her boss kept telling her, 'It was the process that promoted efficiency'. Or something like that.

She opened her mouth to direct the man to the proper place to make a request of a file but he was still talking, "I'm just here for the day. My little brother has been begging me to bring him down to visit the Ministry. He wants to work here when he gets older." The man looked at her door with a wistful expression, vivid blue eyes large and soulful. "He's twelve you know and very enthusiastic about that sort of thing. He's looking forward to all the excitement." She opened her mouth again, then closed it because really, what could she say to something like that? That her job was about as tedious as could be imagined and that even the aurors did more paperwork than field work?

"Anyway," He continued with an air of tolerant cheer, "I'm not really here for the files because I know you probably can't just hand them over like that, but I was hoping you could tell me if you have the records? I mean, could you check to make sure that the records exist? He might have left the country. We're not sure."

She cleared her throat, relieved that this strange man didn't expect her to try to make conversation about the joys of working for the Ministry of Magic. "That's not really..." His eyes got impossibly wider as they pleaded with her and she bit her lip, "...well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to look. What's your uncle's name?"

"Thank you ma'am." His hands came together as if he were about to applaud in gratitude as he stepped further into the room, coming to a stop just before her desk. "I really appreciate this. His name is White. Wally, White. He used to sell used broomsticks, back in the Eighties."

She made the appropriate humming noises at he rambled on, telling her how he didn't remember much, but that his uncle had made the best caramelized apples he'd ever tasted. With a flick of her wand, she tapped the small filing cabinet behind her desk, clearly stated, "Wally White," and tapped it twice more. It gave a little shiver then popped open, displaying three separate files. One is the ugly blue folders that had been popular with her predecessor and two were wrapped in yellowed paper. She frowned at those, knowing she'd have to renew their preservation charms if the paper was starting to discolor. Well, that was a project for another day.

Flipping through the blue folder, she heard a tap on the glass of her office door. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that White's nephew was still in the center of her office and no one was at her door. Dismissing it as her imagination, she went back to the file. "Was his middle name Albert?"

"Actually, I'm not sure. Oh, there you are!" Looking back over her shoulder again, Sheri saw that a young teen with dark hair and a shy smile was coming into her office. He was holding a plate of cookies, chocolate chip, from the look of them. This must be her visitor's brother. He had nearly identical thick, black hair, and wide blue eyes.

"Hi!" The teen chirped and then ducked his head, grinning shyly up at her through his fringe, before coming further into the office to stand next to her brother.

She returned his smile and returned to skimming the file. It listed several professions for this particular Wally White, but no retail positions.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the young brother who'd appeared at her elbow, dish of cookies extended up to her, "Want one?"

"Er," She didn't really. She'd been trying to avoid sweets and get back on track with her diet, but she couldn't think of a graceful way to decline in the face of that youthful hopefulness, "Thanks." She took a bite, then a second as the soft treat nearly melted on her tongue. "Mmm, these are very good." She complimented the kid who beamed back at her.

She scooped up the two other files and closed the drawer, bringing everything back to her desk. Sitting down at her desk, she immediately realized how awkward it was to not have guest chairs in her office to offer to her visitors. She made a mental note to requisition a couple as soon as possible.

Finishing her cookie, she went back to skimming through the first file – although not without a second glance at the plate of treats now out of reach. Would it be rude to ask for another one? Those had been exceptionally tasty.

Shaking her head, she asked, "Did your uncle have kids?" It didn't seem likely since the man had left his estate to a nephew, but the man in her file only had one. Perhaps the child had died at some point.

The young man answered, although she wasn't sure about how a mistake with onions and diapers was all that relevant, but she might have lost the thread of conversation as her stomach gave a series of unhappy twinges. She shifted in her chair. That omelet from lunch had been a bit questionable – she probably should have skipped it in favor of the chocolate tart, but she'd been trying to be good.

Another twinge, this one more ominous. "I'm sorry, sir," She blurted out, interrupting her visitor's tale, "You may want to head up to the –" She cut off, standing abruptly, "Excuse me, I'll be…right back." She hastened for the door, leaving her folder out on the desk (against all regulations about their security), suddenly more concerned about her imminent need for the lavatory than giving a stranger directions to the right Ministry office.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Hermione watched the secretary flee the room in satisfaction. She's been somewhat skeptical of the idea of making laxative-laced cookies when Derek had first suggested it, but had quickly warmed to the idea. It was an efficient and relatively harmless way of getting someone to leave their post. It also gave them the opportunity to see how the filing system worked, an added bonus that Hermione hadn't thought of before seeing the woman call up the files for Derek's imaginary uncle.

Tommy had baked the cookies before they'd left, putting in chocolate flavored laxative chunks and telling her an amusing story about doing the same thing to his brother once. It sounded like they'd gotten into quite a prank war at some point involving, in turns, paint balloons, plastic wrap, and a game of tag.

Adding a potion to the muggle ingredients to speed the process up had been her idea and she was pleased to see that it had taken less than two minutes after eating the cookies for it to take effect.

Flipping off the invisibility cloak and handing it to Derek, Hermione moved over to the small little cabinet.

Copying the secretary's wand movements, Hermione tapped the filing cabinet and breathed, "Files for Severus Snape."

The drawer popped open revealing a single blue folder. With her heart beating in triple-time, she quickly did the same spell she'd used to recreate that geneology book she'd copied for Derek. The ministry files on Snape effortlessly copied themselves onto the blank pages she'd produced. She barely glanced at the first page – just long enough to make sure she'd not flubbed the spell - before she replaced the originals and closed the drawer. With barely a breath of time to allow the cabinet to 'reset', so called out "Lucious Malfoy," and re-opened the drawer to retrieve a much thicker file.

When they'd talked about this operation back at Grimauld Place, it had occurred to Hermione that Snape wasn't the only Death Eater whose address would be useful to know.

"Bellatrix LeStrange."

Voldemort surrounded himself with rich, psychopathic slaves and any one of them might have been entrusted with a horocrux. Or any one of them might be hosting their Lord.

"Peter Pettigrew."

They were probably only going to have one easy shot at this information. Coming back for a second look would be seriously pushing their luck.

"Henrick Crabbe."

Perhaps none of this information would end up being useful, but…

"Goyle." They hadn't known the name of Gregory Goyle's father, and the mountain of folders, far too many to have been able to fit in the drawer without magic almost made her want to cry in frustration. She slammed the door back without copying any of them.

"Walden Macnair."

"Antonin Dolohov."

Suddenly Derek was at her elbow, the invisibility cloak extended out to her, "She's on her way back." Hermione's eyes darted over to where Tommy was coming back into the office, nodding. She hissed, sucking in air between her teeth. There hadn't been enough time. She hadn't gotten through even half the names.

For a brief second she contemplated just stunning the returning file clerk and finishing her search, but common sense quickly reasserted itself and she grabbed the cloak, sliding the shimmering fabric over her head as she stuffed her copied files into her pouch.

They were trying to get in and out of the Ministry without creating a flurry of excitement and stunning someone was bound to be noticed. Besides, she didn't know the first names of most of the rest of the people on her list anyway. What she'd collected would be enough.

With a pained smile, the Secretary in charge of the Estate and Property Files re-entered her office, apologizing for her abrupt departure.

It only took another minute before Derek was flashing the woman another dimpled smile and another effusive thank-you while holding the door open far enough for her to slip out around him.

The adrenaline draining off, Hermione let out a relieved sigh once the door closed behind them. It had been an adventure, but she was glad that the worst was behind them and they'd be able to slip back out of the Ministry with their mission accomplished. The hard part was over.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Harry contemptuously flung aside what was left of the muggle's body. His Death Eaters had brought him the family of a muggleborn auror – like rats bringing an offering to a cat in the hopes of pacifying it. Disgusting lack of imagination.

He paced down what used to be the Malfoy formal dining room, ignoring the still twitching forms of his unworthy followers. Flinging open the doors to the hall, Harry sneered at the two 'guards' as they dropped to their knees, "Asssssemble Everyone. It is time to remove the bloated, muggle-loving Minister and take our rightful place in the seat of power." He had spent too long in the shadows. It was time that the wizards of Great Britain bowed down to their rightful Emperor. He would send his vast army of loyal followers in to secure the seat of governmental power, scouring it of the weak opposition and proving to the world that he could not be ignored.

The Minister, Scrimgeour, was a simmering fool, snapping at his heels like a yapping dog, thinking that capturing a handful of his Death Eaters would slow the inevitable. It was pathetic, but such a man could not be allowed to continue to defy him.

One of the Death Eaters scuttled off down the hall while the other proffered his arm, letting Harry summon his followers through the Dark Mark.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Harry woke with a choked cry, hand flying to his throbbing scar. He lay there for a agonizing moment before flinging off the bed covers and getting shakily to his feet, "Ron! Hermione!" He groped for his wand and found it safely tucked away in his pocket, "Voldemort is going to attack the Ministry of Magic!"

**A/N: Thank you for reading! As always, I appreciate every review. Your encouragement is hugely motivating. **


	13. Skirmish in the Ministry

**Chapter 13 – Skirmish in the Ministry**

**Note: **As always, a reminder:

Dick = Derek Malone

Tim = Tommy Malone

A HUGE thank you to Jenny for her amazing help in making this chapter better than it would have otherwise been. Also to my husband who gave me a suggestion that helped me get past a frustrating part. And another huge thank you to each of you for reading (and reviewing!) as you are my inspiration and motivation to keep going.

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They were following the same path out of the Ministry as they'd entered from. Tim wasn't sure he really approved of that plan. He hadn't gotten the story behind Dick's little impromptu vanishing act earlier, but he'd left behind at least one adoring fan and several questioning officials and there was a good chance the whole lot of them were still there in the hall. It didn't seem prudent to head back through that mess unless there was no way to avoid it.

He gave a sharp tug on the fold of the invisibly cloak he had in hand, getting Hermione's attention. Obviously he couldn't see her, but he could feel the whisper of cloth settle over his fist as she stopped moving, creating slack in the fabric.

He turned to face Dick and let a bit of whine into his voice, "I wanna go a different way. We've already seen all this."

Dick's lips twitched in amusement, but he nodded gravely, "Yeah, it's always a bit boring to go where we've already been."

There was a pause and what sounded suspiciously like an exasperated huff from their invisible friend before the cloak started tugging him onward once again. And whether Hermione had figured out why they wanted to go a different route or she was just humoring him, she did turn off and start down a different corridor.

He wished he'd had the chance to go over the maps for this maze-like compound. Naturally he'd been memorizing everything they'd encountered, but having a mental layout already at hand would have made him more comfortable - and less dependent on their invisible guide.

By his calculation, they were nearly halfway back to the cavernous hall with the security booths when the screaming started. It was distant at first and they all slowed, Tim turning his head back and forth to try to hear what was happening. The screaming got noticeably louder within seconds, as if, like a wave of water, it was taken and pushed down the Ministry halls. People were poking their heads out of offices, and then the first words became clear.

_Help! Invasion! Death Eaters! Attack! Help!_

As if part of the wave of screaming, the people around them started shrieking, carrying the message past them and beyond, further into the Ministry. And, like a wave, the sound ebbed as the panic took hold and people began to run frantically in every direction, noisy and fearful, but without (as much) ear-piercing noise.

Tim exchanged a look with Dick, a momentary island of calm in the midst of the storm of frenzied people.

If these people were under attack, they needed to help. Unconsciously, Tim ran his free hand over where his belt sat tucked away beneath his oversized sweatshirt and black robe. The robes may have helped him look the part of a child-wizard, but it was going to make getting to his gear a pain in the neck. He'd have to ditch the robe soon if it looked like there was going to be a brawl.

Dick's hands twitched as he turned to fully face their invisible guide, "Hermione, I need you to promise to watch over Tommy." Dick's fingers flicked through the signs for 'protect, guard, civilian' as he continued to solemnly address the witch, "If you can get him out and back to the safe house, please do so."

Tim scowled briefly and, if Tim had been someone else, he might have been tempted to follow it up with a pout. Babysitting the civilian was never as satisfying at being proactive against the enemy, but he knew someone had to do it. As much as he would rather help Dick out against the Death Eaters, their priority would have to be Hermione's safety. For now, at least.

"What?" Hermione sounded more confused than upset, "I mean of course! I won't let anything happen to either of you."

Dick nodded and flicked a glance at Tim. He returned it with a barely perceptible nod. He'd get Hermione back to the safe house.

"Thanks Hermione, I know I can count on you."

He spun around and began loping off down the corridor in the direction from which the screaming was still echoed. The cloak in Tim's hands gave a jerk, but he held his ground, not following. Rather than stop, this time Hermione kept going and the invisibility cloak began to slip off, revealing the bottom third of her black robed form, "Wait! Where are you going?" She flung the rest of the cloak off and Tim let it go as she gathered it up in a messy bundle under one arm. A quick glance around them proved that no one was paying them the slightest attention."Stop!" Dick ignored her and she shot Tim an incredulous look as realization seemed to bloom across her face.

"Derek Malone!" Hermione nearly shrieked, "If you think I'm letting you go off after the Death Eaters on your own -" She bit off her own words, raising her wand. "What do you think you could do once you found them? They'll _kill_ you!"

Dick was nearly to the first bend in the hallway, but he turned, jogging backwards, hands raised and a placating expression on his face. "It's fine, Hermione. I won't be seen, I'll just go take a look, make sure everyone is okay." His eyes locked on Tim's then glanced meaningfully at Hermione's wand.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever - " Tim sidled up beside her and nodded at Dick who turned again and sprinted down the hall. "Wha-? Stop! _Stupify!_" Tim yanked her arm down mid-word and the spell dissipated harmlessly into the floor. Hermione jerked away from him. Or tried to as he stepped forward and kept his hand firmly wrapped around her wrist. "What are you doing?!"

"Derek can take care of himself." He calmly assured her.

"You – you - " At an apparent loss for words, she looked back at where Derek had been and saw that the man had vanished. Letting out a groan, she reached up and clutched a fistful of her own hair with her free hand as if she wanted to pull it in sheer frustration, "You don't understand! These people are murderers! They _enjoy_ torturing people. _And they hate muggles_!" She was nearly vibrating with the force of her emotions and Tim wasn't sure whether to feel a bit badly for the stress they were causing her or just exasperated at her obtuseness. On one hand, she obviously was only trying to look out for them, but really, they were supposed to be gang members _from Gotham, _which should be a clue that they could dodge a bullet (or a spell) if they had to. It was getting to be a bit tiresome how little faith Hermione and her friends had in their self-preservation abilities. Perhaps they could arrange to 'be caught' in a sparring match? Or just flat out have one of them try to tag Dick with a spell. They'd probably revise their opinion of 'the helpless muggles' once they got a look at Dick's ability to defy gravity at will.

The whole purpose of being 'undercover' was to NOT BE who they actually were. They didn't want to encourage any hints of association with any of their 'real' identities – and that included Nightwing and Robin. It was a sign that their covers were intact that Hermione, Harry and Ron all acted like they would shatter at the first sign of magical conflict. But when that assumption started to interfere with getting the job done, it was time to start revising it.

An explosion reverberating from the direction Dick had headed shattered the glass in several of the office doors and Tim pushed aside those thoughts to focus on the present. Predictably, the screaming began again from all around them as people abandoned whatever they'd been doing to panic. "You need to put that cloak back on." Tim pointed out as he looked around, gauging the best location to defend his charge if the attackers came their way. The corridor curved to the left as it extended out before them with doors at uneven intervals. He hadn't seen any vents or convenient rafters anywhere which would have been his first choice. All of the offices he'd peeked in had only a single exit and he wasn't about to allow themselves to be cornered.

"Is there some way to go back to the entrance without taking the elevators?" Tim asked Hermione, distracting her from whatever nasty thoughts she might be having towards 'Derek Malone'.

"What?" She turned a blank look to him as she switched gears. Then a look of determination set over her, "We need to get you out of here. Here, wear this." She thrust the bundled invisibility cloak at him and Tim jerked back.

"No, Hermione, you need to wear that." When she took a step closer, shaking out the cloak as if to fling it over him, he added, "You're much more recognizable than I am. No one will pay any attention to me, but if they see you…" He trailed off and from the way Hermione's mouth twisted, he knew she'd gotten the picture. While they'd been standing and talking none of the dozen witches and wizards rushing past them had spared so much as a second glance their direction. That didn't mean the situation would last and it certainly wouldn't if those Death Eaters were as interested in Harry Potter as they'd been told.

She frowned down at the cloak then pulled it on over her head, pausing before the front folds erased her presence and looking at him. "We might be able to share it."

Tim snorted, "It barely covers you!" He waved his hand, brushing aside the suggestion, "I'll be fine." He returned back to his previous question as the witch finally vanished again. "Is there another way out of here?"

"The floo network. But the Death Eaters probably have both the lifts and the fireplaces under guard." Tim twitched as a cloth-covered hand wrapped itself around his wrist. Hermione probably didn't want to chance him wandering off. "We may need to hide until the aurors repel the attack."

Her tone of voice revealed her doubts about the success of that.

Lovely. His choices were a magical way out or a magical way out – either or both of which might be compromised – or finding a coat closet and waiting for the cavalry.

But, if he had to choose, he'd pick the elevators over traveling by fire, so that's where they'd start. "Let's head back to that main foyer where we came in. We might be able to sneak passed any guards they have up."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dick found the trail of dead and wounded before he found the Death Eaters. The first man, hair graying at the temples and bleeding gash across his stomach was conscious and clutching his wand, although his eyes were glassy and he didn't react when Dick moved into view.

The next woman was beyond help, eyes empty and face a grimace of surprise.

A third woman was crying, eyes dripping crimson tears, and shaking. A man, himself cradling an arm that appeared shattered was crooning to her, urging her to get up.

As much as it pained him, Dick stopped for none of these, the screaming ahead of him driving him on. If he stopped to help one, two more might die in their place. He needed to help stop the damage before it was inflicted and steeled himself to ignore those who cried out for help along the way.

He'd been forced to make this choice before. It never got easier.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Harry was panting and nearly collided with Ron as he flung open the bedroom door

"What-?"

"At the Ministry!" Harry made to push past Ron, but the other teen grasped his shoulders, forcing Harry to stop and look at him, "Voldemort! He's attacking the Ministry of Magic!"

A pinched expression overtook Ron's face, but he kept his hands in place. "Are you sure? You got a vision?"

"Yes! I saw him calling the Death Eaters. They're going to attack the Ministry right now." He tried again to slide past his friend, eyes darting around him. Where was Hermione? "We have to do something!"

"Harry!" Ron gave his shoulders a little shake, "How do you know it's real? The last time you saw a vision about the Ministry..."

He didn't need to finish that statement and Harry felt something inside twist up into a painful knot. Something of that must have shown on his face as Ron grimaced and looked away. "We have to do something." Harry repeated voice softer but firm.

Ron finally let go of his shoulders, running a hand through his hair and letting it fall to his side, looking stressed and defeated, "You can't go."

Harry didn't respond, feeling that twisted knot in his gut tighten. He couldn't just – there was no way he could do nothing. All those people...so many people were going to die today and he was supposed to sit back, safe in his little hide-away and do nothing? His whole being revolted at the idea.

"Dad will be fine. Hermione will be fine." Ron continued as if to himself, completely de-railing Harry's train of thought.

"What?"

Ron's strained face turned back to him, "Dad's an Order member. He'll know what to do if Death Eaters show up. And Hermione's a powerful witch – she knows how to take care of herself. She's got your cloak. And she's probably out of the Ministry and on her way back here. She'll be gone before the Death Eaters ever get there."

"WHAT?!" The knot turned icy and Harry briefly wondered if he was going to throw up. Hermione was at the Ministry of Magic? Now that he thought about it, he did remember them talking about Harry and the Malones going down to the Ministry to get Snape's address, but he hadn't realized they were heading out today. How long had he been asleep anyway? "We need to get her out of there. We need to go-"

"NO!" Ron's face was flushed and his eyes looked fevered in their determination, "Even if you're right and your vision is real, we can't just go storming into the Ministry. Every Death Eater in the place would immediately start coming after you if they knew you were there. We _can't_ risk it."

Harry slumped, pressing a hand to his still burning scar. Ron looked positively wild, eyes darting to Harry and around the hall as if looking for someplace to settle and not finding it. Harry knew it couldn't be easy for his friend to tell him that they needed to stay put. Ron would normally be the first one out the door to rescue his family or Hermione if he thought they needed it. The fact that he wasn't doing that spoke louder than his words at how serious he was about Harry staying away from the Ministry of Magic. And he was right. Just as they couldn't try to fight the Death Eater raids and just as they couldn't try to invade Malfoy Manor, Harry was needed to win the war, not fight smaller battles. They couldn't risk it – not without proof that Hermione was in imminent danger, anyway.

"Fine." All the adrenaline seemed to drain out of him with that one word and he pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes, just breathing for a moment before straightening up. "Fine. But we can do something without leaving the house."

With that, he brushed past Ron and marched down to the sitting room. Then, taking a pinch of floo powder, he tossed it in the fireplace and called out, "Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office." If they couldn't go themselves, they could send the Order instead.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Rabastan LeStrange laughed in exaltation, feeling the delicious sense of power course through his veins. The magic thrummed heavy and dark all around them, the scent of blood and fear coating the very air. Beside him, his brother blasted apart another wooden desk, exposing the cowering wizard beneath. Already speckled with blood from a hundred little splinters received as his shelter was forcibly removed, the man began to babble in terror. Rabastan ignored it as his brother stalked closer to his newest victim, confident that the man wouldn't even think to defend himself before it was too late.

Behind him the four new recruits from his team were methodically mopping up behind them, searching out every crevice and destroying everything in their path. It was tedious having to stick together as a group, but his Lord's orders were very clear. They were to stay together and flush out every witch and wizard they could find. Whether they fled or died, the Dark Lord didn't want anyone except his followers in the Ministry before evening.

They were in some sort of large cavernous room filled with neat little rows of desks. Hundreds of desks. The open layout suited him perfectly as it gave them a perfect view of those fleeing like rats before them. He'd taken down a dozen in the first few minutes, although the majority had managed to escape. It didn't bother him though. They'd find more the deeper into the Ministry they went.

He waded through the ocean of oak, barely glancing to the right or to the left, leaving his gaggle of recruits to make sure no else was cowering under their desk. He was across the room, near the passage that would lead to the next series of offices to clear when he glanced over his shoulder and did a double-take.

There was a man rushing out of the corridor leading back to the Foyer. Unlike the other men he'd seen running today, this one wasn't running away from them, but charging directly at them.

He had a tight, form-fitting shirt on of no style Rabastan had ever seen before. Black and sleeve-less, it seemed almost rigid like clay rather than fabric, hugging the man's ribcage and showing off the impressive biceps. In one hand he gripped a truly hideous grey muggle sweatshirt and the other was a closed fist – no wand in sight.

Rabastan raised an eyebrow. Had the man been confounded? Or blinded and didn't know he was running right into a group of Death Eaters?

His lip curled up in contempt as one of his nameless recruits shot out the first spell - a stunner which missed. The second spell, one which would boil the victim's blood, followed nearly immediately behind, cast by another recruit with at least a modicum of accuracy as it found its target. Well, nearly found it. The dark haired man had shifted his sweatshirt into the path of that spell, intercepting the magic and dropping the fabric before it could be absorbed through the cloth and up to his hand.

Frowning, Rabastan cast his own spell, one of his favorite blasting curses and pursed his lips in displeasure as this spell too missed, the man twisting to the side to avoid it.

Only a few seconds had passed since the man had entered the room, but already he was nearly half-way across it. The recruit nearest the door had not been one of the two casting spells at him, focused as he was on the witch twitching and whimpering at his feet, so when the punch came, he was completely unprepared. The force of it staggered him, but he didn't immediately drop despite what sounded like a broken jaw. A kick flashed out, landing directly in the center of the black robes and the Death Eater doubled over. Then the man jabbed an elbow to the back of the recruit's head and even from across the room, Rabastan knew that that man wasn't getting up any time soon.

Rabastan realized his jaw was hanging open and snapped it shut. He'd been expecting some resistance (although pitiful little of it had materialized so far), but he'd been expecting sheets of spell-fire, not a crazy attack using fists and feet. It was idiotic – insane!

He wasn't the only one to have been shocked into stillness as for a moment each of his fellow Death Eaters stared in disbelief – and that delay cost them. A second recruit – the one with the more accurate spell-fire – was next closest and without even pausing to check that the first Death Eater was fully out of commission, the crazy man vaulted an untouched desk and launched himself feet-first at the next Death Eater.

He immediately scrambled backwards, fumbling up a shield, but the fool miscalculated and the shield popped up _behind_ the insane attacker. A black boot touched the ground only to leave it again and cleave upward to impact the Death Eater's jaw, breaking it just as surely as he'd broken the first one.

Taking half a step back, Rabastan found himself unaccountably dismayed as his second recruit fell. The stranger snagged the recruit's wand as the man slipped to the floor and Rabastan growled out a shield charm, expecting a barrage of rapid-fire spellwork. But the man simply snapped the wand in half and causally tossed the broken pieces aside.

His brother, Rodolphus spit out, "_Avada Kedavra_," evidently not in the mood to mess around with this guy, but this spell missed again as the man nimbly hopped aside.

For the first time, the man spoke, his voice cool and a bit amused, "You guys really need to gain some personally in your outfits. How do you tell each other apart when you're in groups?" Rodolphus called out another killing curse and Rabastan did the same while the man bent and twisted and weaved between them, all the while advancing on a third recruit. "Wouldn't it be awkward to slap you buddy on the back and congratulate him on his fantastic Death Eater-ing and then discover that it was totally the wrong guy?" As he spoke, the man grabbed two thick wands that had apparently been strapped to the outside of his thighs, and again Rabastan raised a shield, only to find no spells sent his way. Instead the man just continued bounding toward his next target, holding his strange wands as if poised to lash out with them.

The recruit the stranger had picked to stalk next apparently decided to try something different since not a single spell so far had actually made it near the man. He levitated one of the desks and brought it swooping down, as if it were a giant baseball bat, but at the last second the man dropped bonelessly to the floor and the desk swept harmlessly overhead. He then popped back up as if his calves were made of springs.

The desk wavered in the air for a moment, then came back around, this time slamming into the floor as if it were a giant flyswatter, shattering on impact, but the man dove forward, somersaulting back up to his feet. The recruit managed to get another spell out – a shield that was actually between him and the dark haired berserker, but the man simply leaped right over the Death Eater's head, coming down behind him and planting a fist in his kidney. With an agonized groan, the recruit retched, then received a follow-up jab to the throat with the weird wand before sliding out of sight, likely unconscious now as well.

Rabastan blinked and took another handful of steps back. There were now only three of them. This man had taken them down to half strength and didn't even appear winded – nor had he bothered to cast a single spell! Granted, between himself and his brother, those left were the most experienced and powerful half, but the speed with which this man was taking them down... and the method! Who fought like that?

Rodolphus cast another killing curse, now directed at the man's back, but apparently he had eyes in the back of his head as well as impossible joints as he bent aside without looking.

"Have you considered personalizing your masks?" The man asked with a ridiculous amount of aplomb, turning to the last recruit. "I think some time spent as a group with some paint brushes and real thought about your own sense of style would do wonders for you. Probably cut your therapy bills in half!"

The final recruit was backing away, calling out a series of curses that filled the air with shards of sharp cutting magic. It shouldn't have been possible to dodge them all and, as the man flipped up into the air, twisted and landed, crouched on the top of one of the desks, like an animal on all fours. Then Rabastan realized he hadn't avoided them all - the strange fabric over his torso was nicked in several places, and a shallow red slice creased one arm, but that was a paltry amount of damage in return for the sheer effort a spell like that would cost.

With a suddenness that shouldn't have surprised him, the man vaulted upwards, leaping over yet another killing curse (couldn't his brother stop fixating on that one spell?) and Rabastan's own blinding spell. At the apex of his arc, the man twisted his torso, flinging his arm around as if tossing a discus. Although Rabastan didn't see anything actually leave the man's hand, he did hear his brother cry out in pained surprise and spared enough attention to see that Rodolphus was clutching his wand hand against his chest, a jagged piece of metal embedded in the back of it, blood welling up out of the wound.

Turning back to the stranger, Rabastan called up a fireball and sent it across the room. Diving behind a desk, the man managed to avoid getting scorched. But the recruit wasn't so lucky. With a shriek of agony, the Death Eater collapsed, the fire having melted the recruit's robes into his skin.

"Not too bright are you?" The voice mocked them, although he remained hiding behind the desk he'd used for cover. With a snarl, Rabastan blasted that desk apart, expecting either to finally kill the man or for him to pull out another series of impossible dodges. But except for scorched floor tiles and a few tendrils of smoke, the vaporized desk revealed nothing.

With narrowed eyes, he carefully walked sideways between the rows of orderly desks, checking to see if the man had skittered over to the neighboring desk somehow. He frowned and moved again, beginning a circuit around the room, wand at ready.

"Did you get him?" Rodolphus growled and Rabastan shook his head irritably.

"He got away somehow." He surveyed the sea of desks, knowing that the man could be cowering behind any one of them. Had he activated a Portkey? In a gesture of frustration, he threw another fireball, consuming a random desk and revealing nothing.

"A bit impatient, are we?" The mocking voice returned and Rabastan whirled around as he registered that it came from somewhere behind him. For a silent heartbeat he saw nothing, then his brother let out a surprised grunt and fell to the ground, disappearing from view as if his feet had been swiped out from under him. A cut off curse and silence reigned once more. Charging back through the ocean of desks, Rabastan cast a spell that sent a wave of kinetic energy, crashing the desks into each other in a tidal wave away from him and revealing his brother's fallen form.

He knelt briefly to check that he was still alive, feeling cold fury and no little fear shiver through his blood. He would burn this whole place to the ground. He would unleash demon fire the likes of which even their Dark Lord would tremble at.

Standing, with mouth open and curses at the tip of his wand, he met a pair of steely blue eyes and never even saw the knuckles before stars exploded across his vision and his rage drowned in suffocating darkness.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Hermione swiped an impatient hand over her face, smoothing down the frizzing ends strands of hair that were beginning to cling skin. She and Tommy weren't quite at a run, but their brisk pace was still starting to catch up with her. While not exactly out of shape, she wasn't really known as the most athletic in her circle of friends, and now thin layer of sweat was beginning to make her clothes stick in uncomfortable ways.

They had left the corridor where Derek had vanished, Tommy urging them to get out of the Ministry while they could and Hermione unable to disagree (despite the urge to track down the kid's brother and throttle the man). She'd been in the Ministry of Magic before during a Death Eater attack, and while that small skirmish in 5th year was probably nothing like this attack, she'd learned that splitting up never ended well. Derek was probably going to end up killed.

But she'd been left in charge of his brother and Hermione was going to see that the boy made it out of there alive even if she had to invent a new way to travel through anti-apparation wards to do it.

At least Tommy seemed to be doing his best to cooperate. He'd remained close to her side as if glued there with a sticking charm.

He'd been the one to set their pace, breaking into a quick jog almost immediately, only slowing when they entered a new room or came to an intersection. She might have preferred a more cautious pace, but they hadn't actually stumbled on any Death Eaters, only a continuous flow of panicked witches and wizards running in every direction (and once a bloody smear on the wall that she fervently hoped Tommy hadn't noticed). They were getting close to the large foyer where the security booths lined up and Hermione began to hope that they'd be able to duck into a floo and get away with no one the wiser.

She should have known better though. Even without Harry there, her luck wouldn't be that good.

Tommy noticed before she did, slowing to near stop before the hall took a sharp right turn. She slowed as well, wondering what had caught his attention, but before she could ask, she heard it too. There had been a lot of screaming and angry yelling since the attack began, so she hadn't immediately registered the voices around the corner, but then she caught the difference between these voices and the ones they'd been hearing around them. This voice was loud, but deliberate, barking out orders with a voice dripping with contempt. Whoever was around the corner wasn't fearing for his life, and he had buddies if the way he was snapping out commands was any indication.

And, now that she was paying attention, she realized she recognized that voice.

Tommy, flattened up against the hallway wall looked like he was about to poke his head around the corner for a look, so she grabbed his shoulder, halting him, then leaned up close to whisper, "That's Snape. The Death Eaters probably have to floos and lifts blocked off. We need to find another way out."

"Is there another way out?" Tommy asked in a dry voice that seemed to anticipate a negative answer.

Refusing to admit that she wasn't sure, she hissed back, "There's got to be something. Maybe there's another floo in the Auror offices." In fact, now that she thought of it, there probably were several floos throughout the Ministry. It wouldn't make sense to force the aurors to trek all the way back to the entry hall when they needed to respond to an emergency.

"You said earlier that they probably have all the exits guarded. Let's see if we can sneak out here before we try someplace else."

Hermione nodded, even though Tommy couldn't see her, then leaned around him, "Let me take a look at what's happening."

She cautiously poked her head around, very aware of the fact than her invisibility cloak was far from fool-proof. She had no desire to take a spell to the head just because she got careless.

The bend in the hall was a bit sharper than 90 degrees, curving back in on itself and continuing for another thirty feet or so before widening like a cone and emptying into the cavernous entry hall. Hermione's first impression of the situation in the hall was 'a mess'. The neat rows of wand weighing booths had been demolished, splintered wood and dead bodies littering the floor. Beyond the remains of the security booths, the floos were dark. The only people upright and moving were in black robes with white face masks.

Grimacing, she swept her eyes across her limited view field and counted eleven Death Eaters. Which meant at least double the number were likely outside her view. Snape's voice has stopped issuing orders, but Hermione had no idea if any of the figures before her might be her old professor or not – and at the moment she didn't care.

How in Merlin's name was she going to get Tommy safely through that?

She nearly withdrew to tell Tommy what she's seen when something caught her eye. It was a line of bodies, neatly laid out. It was the unexpected orderliness that caught her attention, but once she's noticed, she felt her heart sink. It was a row of children. Faces pale and still, one with a bruise over a cheekbone, another with a bit of blood matting her blond hair, they lay in a neat little line.

She felt a tremble begin to shiver up from her belly and extend out to her arms. How could anyone kill a bunch of children? They were so young, none of them looked old enough to get a Hogwarts letter. The Death Eaters were sick – she'd always known Voldemort and his followers had no compunctions against attacking kids – just look at what the madman had tried to do to Harry again and again! But somehow it was different to be seventeen and seeing the evidence laid out in tiny bodies than it was to be eleven and hear your friend talk about how he'd defeated Quirrell. Or even fourteen and seeing the still body of a classmate.

"What is it?" Tommy must have felt the shudder ripple through her and his whispered question snapped her out of her daze. For the second time, she nearly withdrew from around the corner, but stopped. Another frozen body of a child came into view, hovering several feet above the ground, followed by a Death Eater with wand trained on the young form, obviously directing it. Beside him another Death Eater walked, gesturing in sharp flicks of his hands. Even as the body was lowered at the end of the line, a third Death Eater rushed into view heading straight to the child's body on the other end row. With a quick crouch, the new Death Eater lifted the child's torso, wrapping an arm around the girl's shoulders. Then the pair vanished, swirling away in the silent manner of a portkey.

Hermione gave an involuntary gasp.

"_What? _What's happening?" Tommy's demand alerted her to the fact that the boy was practically drumming his fingers against her arm in impatience and if she didn't want him to stick his own neck out to try to get a look, she'd need to let him in on what she'd seen.

She pulled back and looked at him, "There are at least twenty Death Eaters between us and the floo and they're portkeying away the bodies of children."

Tommy blinked at her, his brow furrowed, "Are you sure they're dead?"

She opened her mouth to confirm it, then reconsidered. They'd been completely still and silent and surrounded by very obviously dead bodies of whoever had been unlucky enough to have been in the way when the Death Eaters had first invaded, but it was true that she wasn't close enough to see if they were breathing. Maybe they'd just been stunned?

"I don't know," She confessed, feeling the sickening churning in her stomach now mix with some sort of dread, "If they aren't dead, they're kidnapping them." She honestly wasn't sure if that was better.

Tommy pursed his lips and tilted his head, obviously thinking.

"We need to rescue them." She stated the words before she'd even completed the thought, but it settled around her with a kind of conviction that calmed her stomach and erased the trembling that had been vibrating along her fingers.

Tommy's nod was absent, as if that decision hadn't even been in question, "We need to –"

He broke off and Hermione heard the clomp of booted feet coming their way. At least one Death Eater – a large one from the sound of it – was heading down their hall.

"Stay here," Tommy whispered, quick and urgent, "When they get past you, stun them."

"Wha-?" But then he was off at a sprint, back down the hall where they'd come from. It was obvious of course, once she realized what he was doing. In the brightly lit empty hall, Tommy would have been immediately noticed. If he were fast enough, he could duck around the corner before anyone saw him.

Unfortunately, he didn't make it.

There were two of them, one tall and broad and the other slender and with slumped shoulders. It was the thinner one who spotted Tommy and his voice squeaked out, "Hey!" even as he fumbled for his wand.

Tommy spun around, his robe flaring around him dramatically as he gave them a broad smile, "Hey yourself!"

Both Death Eaters took several steps forward, finally moving beyond Hermione and giving her two broad targets.

Her first stunner smacked into the smaller man almost simultaneously with the man's own _stuplfy_ leaving his wand towards Tommy. She didn't pause to check if it caught the muggle before casting another bolt of magic at the second man.

The second Death Eater was quick, he'd nearly spun back around to face her before her stunning spell caught him in the shoulder, dispatching him. A quick glance at Tommy told her that her charge was still on his feet, unharmed.

For a few heartbeat there was stillness as she waited to see if either of her targets moved or if more Death Eaters would show up. Then Tommy was back at her side cheerfully declaring, "I'm going to have to convince Pop to get us a couple of those invisibility cloaks. That's way better than just wearing black."

A snort of surprised laughter escaped Hermione before she asked a bit dryly, "And what would you use them for? Jumping out of closets and scaring your friends?" She shook her head, "Well, good luck with that. They're so rare that I've never even heard of anyone else owning one." Returning her attention to the task at hand, she added, "Although at times like these, a second one would be handy."

"Uh-huh," Tommy agreed, "Anyway, I have a plan for rescuing the children you saw. I'll let myself get captured, then when they –"

"That's a horrible plan!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Wait, let me finish! After I'm captured, you can hold on to me as we're teleported to wherever they're keeping the children. Then you can revive them and then we'll escape."

"That's still a horrible plan. Kind of short on details too. How are we going to escape once we're there?"

Tommy shrugged nonchalantly, "Well until we know more about the situation at the other end of the teleportation, we'll have to wing it."

Hermione chewed on her lower lip for a minute trying to come up with a better idea. Trying to defeat a whole room of Death Eaters would be suicide. Luring them out in smaller numbers seemed equally unlikely to end well. And no matter what, they'd have to end up taking a portkey to find the already transported children. Tommy's plan actually had the best chance of working out. Assuming of course that they didn't end up at Voldemort's feet. Or in some sort of dungeon.

There were a lot of assumptions with this plan.

"What if the children really are dead? Or what if they think you're too old?"

Giving her a crooked smile that didn't seem to quite reach his eyes, Tommy quietly admitted, "Then we'll be in trouble."

Feeling a weight settle in her gut, and with a silent apology to the other Malone for not keeping his baby brother safe, she relented, "How are you going to get captured?"

Shrugging, he stepped away from her, "I'll act like I've already been stunned then wait and let the next set of Death Eaters come by and collect me."

"Oh," she started, feeling unsettled, "Why didn't we just use them?" She gestured to the two men sprawled on the floor, forgetting that he couldn't see her.

Tommy gave her a smirk, "Would you have just sat back and let them kidnap me?"

Deflating, Hermione had to admit that she wouldn't have.

"It's fine, I just lay out in the middle of the hall and the next Death Eater to head our way will have to trip over me to get by. They'll either take me back with the rest of the kids or keep on walking. Either way, what do we have to lose?"

Honestly, she could think of several things they might lose with this gamble, not the least of which was their freedom or lives. But she'd never be able to live with herself if they didn't try to do something.

Tommy stepped out into the middle of the hall as promised, then laid out on the floor. He didn't stretch out on his back, as she'd expected, but sort of twisted with his shoulders almost flat on the ground, but his hips curved around as if he'd been turning when he fell. One arm was bent around, elbow jutting out and hand curved under him as if he'd fallen on it. Hermione felt a momentary spark of curiosity. Had the boy had to fake being unconscious before? His position looked incredibly uncomfortable and thus not at all feigned. Very smart, if he'd come up with it on the spot.

They had to wait several minutes before the next pair of Death Eaters trooped through, but they reacted perfectly. After exclaiming over their unconscious colleagues, debating over the merits of reviving them or not (they did, but not without a great deal of grumbling), and checking to make sure Tommy was still alive (and wandless), they floated the boy up and back to the main hall without making sure he was actually as unaware as he acted.

Hermione, feeling terribly exposed, followed behind them, settling at Tommy's limp feet to wait their turn with for the Death Eater portkey. Despite her fears, no one noticed her and in less than fifteen minutes they'd both been whisked out of the Ministry.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

A/N: I did some (minor) changes to some previous chapters, the largest of which was a bit more detail on what Dick and Tim are wearing (specifically, their current body armor is not the same as their costumes).

Thank you for reading! I would certainly appreciate any reviews – I re-read the ones I've received frequently, so a HUGE thank you to those who've encouraged me.


	14. Were's the Problem?

A/N: So I must, once again, apologize for making everyone wait so long for an update. It took me forever to finally get this to a point where I liked it enough to post it. I must give a HUGE thank you to everyone who left a review (I can't tell you how much motivation that encouragement gave me to get this done), along with my Beta, Jenny.

As a reminder, Dick = Derek Malone and Tim = Tommy Malone.

**Chapter 14 – Were's the Problem?**

The first indication that something was wrong was from the bronze wristband the Auror Dispatch Center had affixed to his wand arm that morning. Part of an Auror's uniform, the wristbands were designed to alert an Auror in the field that they needed to get back in touch with the Dispatch Center as a new 'emergency' (or, more likely, a new minor grievance) had been reported.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was in the middle of attempting to arbitrate a domestic disturbance (the wife claimed the husband had given her boils, the husband claimed the wife cursed him impotent, the neighbors thought it was great entertainment, and the lawyer thought it was payday). He felt the band vibrate and spared it a glance, then did a double take as he saw that the thing was glowing so red it was almost white.

Only a genuine emergency – an urgent one, would elicit a color like that.

"Excuse me." He politely interrupted the woman who was still listing out her husband's (many and varied) faults. "I'm afraid that I must direct you to the Office of Domestic Disputes. As an Auror, I am not authorized to intervene unless there is a life-threatening situation." The woman threw her husband a smug, triumphant look while he visibly ground his teeth and clenched his fist tighter around his wand. Kingsley did not actually want to leave, despite the fact that the couple's problems were technically not his problem, because he had a strong suspicion that the husband was going to start in on casting stronger spells at his wife soon – and then that _would_ be his problem. But an urgent emergency trumped a potential one, so he quickly advised the gloating woman to make a trip to St. Mungos (not only would they clear up her boils, it would probably give her husband time to cool off).

He'd turned to step off the couple's property, preparing to apparate when a misty figure shot across his path. Checking his steps, he peered after it and saw a sleek tabby patronus crouched in front of a begonia bush. He frowned at it, not needing to see the distinctive markings around its eyes to know that the messenger was from McGonagall. Which meant Order business.

Another glance at his wristband confirmed that it was still fiercely glowing. Not likely a coincidence.

Darting a look behind him, he saw that the domestic squabble was still taking center stage in everyone's attention so he turned back to the wispy feline and rumbled, "You have a message for me?"

The cat opened its mouth and spoke in McGonagall's voice, "There may be a major attack against the Ministry soon. If so, Scrimgeour is a primary target." Message delivered, the patronus faded into nothing.

Kingsley's final look at his wristband was grim. He probably had a very good idea what the 'emergency' he was being summoned back to base was about now – and if the call was as urgent as it looked, it was going to be very ugly. Swishing his wand, he summoned his own patronus, a Lynx. It sprang from his wand and loped a circle around him before settling down, calm and patient, for his message. "Go to Professor McGonagall and give her this message: I believe the attack is happening right now and will be heading there directly."

The Lynx vanished, and Kingsley continued to finger his wand for a moment, thinking. If You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters were attacking the Ministry, then they'd be most heavily concentrated at the apparition points – the visitor entrances and the Auror department. If he arrived at either point, he was likely to come out in the middle of a fire-fight, and being targeted before he'd even found his footing didn't sound all that appealing. Was there any other way in to the Ministry?

It took him only a few seconds to come up with an alternative and reaching around his neck, he drew out a thin leather cord with a dull knut attached. It was his emergency portkey, spelled to take him directly to the Auror infirmary. Using it when he wasn't bleeding out was both against regulation and possibly unwise (heading into battle without any way out was one of the stupid decisions they tried to drill new Aurors out of making before they were allowed their first bit of field work, and if he used the portkey now, it wouldn't be available for use later). But if it got him inside intact…

Clutching the knut in one fist, he firmly stated, "Healer," and was yanked away.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Traveling via portkey was, in Tim's professional opinion, just as bad as traveling via floo network. It felt like Superman had wrapped a rope around his stomach, and then yanked. It did not help that a strange man, smelling unwashed and sweaty, was hugging his shoulders and Hermione was clutching his ankle so tightly that it beginning to ache.

When this mission was over, he was never going to complain about getting his molecules dissolved by the JLA teleporter again. At least _that _wasn't likely to make him throw up.

When the pressure mercifully let up, he discovered that their destination was...humid. Eyes tightly shut, he could only use his other senses and they were telling him that he'd been transported to a tropical jungle. It was warm, the air moist and smelling of fresh earth and exotic flowers. The bright sunlight against his skin ruled out anywhere in South America or Asia (unless time travel was also involved, but that would be a whole other can of worms). So, he would have to be in nearly the same longitude as Britain – Africa maybe? The Congo?

Great.

His limp body was dropped to the floor and, for a nice change, his head slammed down against soft dirt rather than unyielding concrete. Hermione's grip chose that moment to slacken as well, vanishing from his ankle. Wherever they were, they'd arrived together at least. Tim hoped she would keep quiet until he had a chance to figure out how they could get themselves (plus however many children were with them) away. He also hoped she had realized that soft earth could reveal footprints, if she wasn't careful.

His handler grunted declaring, "Two more." Then his presence at Tim's head vanished, presumably heading back to the Ministry to pick up the last two children.

From the volume of the Death Eater's voice, whoever he'd spoken to had to have been fairly close, so Tim continued to lay limp and simply listen.

In the humid stillness, there were several voices, murmuring too quietly to each other to make out words - farther away than he estimated his closest guard to be.

When, after forty-five seconds of stillness, his (single?) guard shifted his stance and Tim pinned his location at approximately eight feet away, below his feet and somewhat off to his right. At that distance, unless someone was paying exceptionally close attention in just the right direction, they would never notice if Tim took a peek at his surroundings.

Slitting his eyes open, he got his first glimpse of his location... and wanted to slap himself hard enough to give a concussion. Considering how often he had tangled with Poison Ivy, he should have thought of 'Greenhouse' before speculating on exotic locations.

And they were definitely in a greenhouse. Beyond the thick broad-leafed plants and bright purple flowers blooming above him were thick rows of green glass windows. From his limited view, it was a very large greenhouse – he didn't see a wall in any direction – and there were lovely catwalks neatly arranged along the ceiling.

After being earth-bound for far too long, those catwalks were a beautiful sight. If (when) it came down to a fight, those would provide an excellent advantage in his mobility.

Of more immediate concern though were their captors. Only two were in view.

The first was a shaggy man with unkempt hair and long dirty nails leaning up against the base of a palm tree and gazing at the foliage with an expression of absolute boredom. The second, long, dark hair tied back in a ponytail and a disturbing expression of excited hunger on his face, appeared to be keeping a close eye on the children laid out beside Tim. He couldn't get a look at how many kids were lined up without lifting his head, but from the angle of the guard's gaze as he swept them over the row of children, Tim would guess that there were at least twenty-five.

They weren't dressed like the Death Eaters at the Ministry. Neither of them wore robes or white masks. Did that mean that they were at a place that they felt it was safe to remove the uniforms or was this a separate group entirely?

Something brushed his exposed arm and Tim fought the instinct to twitch.

Then the sounds abruptly muffled as if his head had suddenly been encased in a thick padded hood and he was unable to stop himself from stiffening.

"Werewolves." The feminine voice breathed into his ear, thick with tension.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Kingsley appeared in the infirmary to a scene of barely-organized chaos. The injured packed in the small area, blood, pus, and other bodily fluids leaking onto each other as the handful of nurses tried to stabilize the worst.

One healer, sweat beading across her brow as she finished sealing a puncture that looked like it had probably pierced a lung, if it had been deep enough, spotted him and did a quick sweep with her eyes over his body, "Non-urgent care that way" She flung her arm our to indicate a door behind Kingsley and with the same motion vanished the mess a convulsing patient had puked up.

He made a hasty exit, doing his best to not get into anyone's way as he wove through the room.

Outside the infirmary were even more people milling around, most with minor injuries. He saw a woman from his department sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest and her back against a wall. He wanted to spare a moment to stop and ask her what happened, but her blank stare kept him back.

It was fairly obvious what had happened in any case. The question really was whether the Death Eater's attack was succeeding or not and he doubted anyone here would know the answer to that.

He ran a hand over the smooth skin across his head and considered his options. If he was right about where the Death Eaters were concentrated, then there was likely heavy fighting in the Auror department and his co-workers could no doubt use the extra wand. But McGonagall's message had said that the Minister of Magic was a primary target and there was a good chance that no one besides himself was aware of that fact. So getting to Scrimgeour's office was probably a higher priority at the moment. If the Minster wasn't there or was already well guarded, then he'd head back into the thick of things.

Decision made, he started off, cautious, but wasting no time.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Werewolves. Fun.

Without moving his lips, Tim whispered back to Hermione, "How many?" He didn't even have to consult his mental calendar to know that there would be a full moon that night because with his luck there was no way that it would be anything _but_ a full moon. So they were going to have to get all the unconscious children away from there within the next seven hours.

The invisible witch moved away, leaving the sound-blocking spell in place, which was frustrating as it hampered his ability to monitor the guards. There was nothing he could do about it though.

The Death Eater who had teleported him in had retrieved another kid and announced with satisfaction that there was only one more to go by the time Hermione returned.

"At least two dozen men." She informed him, "Probably more, but that's what I could see without getting too close."

He wanted to grimace. That was far too many for them to take on their own unless they were willing to risk the kids. They needed back-up. "Can you -" He broke off as the man watching the group of children swung his gaze their direction. His eyes didn't linger though, so as soon as they'd moved on, he continued, "Can you teleport out of here and get help?"

There was a pause then Hermione admitted, "No. They have anti-apparition wards up." Her voice rose a bit at the end, but she cut herself off before he had to shush her, then continued in a softer whisper, "I might be able to sneak out on my own if they aren't guarding the door too closely, but even in human form werewolves have advanced senses. One of them might hear me or smell me or something and unless the wards end right at the door, I wouldn't be able to get away before I was caught."

Tim mentally moved that possibility to the bottom of his list. The element of surprise was too important to risk Hermione giving herself away unless they'd run out of other options.

"Can you send out a message?"

"I – No." Her tone became a mix of embarrassment and apology. "Considering how often Harry gets into trouble, we should have thought of some way to do that by now."

Tim didn't bother to voice his agreement. "Can you get my phone out of my pocket without anyone noticing?" It ended up being a tricky maneuver since he had by that point been sandwiched between two other children with the phone hidden under his lax arm, under the robe, under his sweatshirt, and finally in his pants pocket. But with a bit of patience and a quiet slicing charm to get through a few of the layers, Hermione managed to retrieve it.

Beneath her invisibility cloak, Hermione followed his directions and started it up, "It's working!"

"Great," He sent back, rather surprised that the magic around them hadn't rendered his phone inoperable, "Let's let someone know where we are then."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"_Crucio_!" A harsh voice called out, echoing out down the corridor to Kingsley as he made his way towards the Minister's office.

He picked up his pace to a near run, wincing at the knowledge that, for whoever was being tortured, he might already be too late. Swerving around the corner, he called out a stunning spell even before he was sure of his target, more concerned with preventing some poor fellow from ending up in St. Mungo's next to the Longbottoms than in being cautious.

His aim was true though and one of three masked figures crumpled to the ground to join a forth that was already there apparently taken out by…a wooden chair? At least the unmoving man seemed to be lying beneath the splintered remains of one.

He skidded to a halt, taking in the scene as he shot out another stunner – this one expertly deflected by one of the two Death Eaters still conscious. Surprisingly, no one was being tortured. Instead, the gang of Death Eaters appeared to have been shooting spells at a fifth person. And missing.

That fifth person was doing to most bizarre acrobatics Kingsley had ever seen, bouncing off walls and around the rubble beneath him. In any other circumstances, he would have thought someone had the man under some sort of weird dancing spell, but in the seconds he had to take in the scene, the man leapt over one spell and spun out of the way of another.

Countering the jet of flame his opponent sent towards him, Kingsley shot out a spell to turn the man's feet into blocks of ice, only to have it countered in turn.

"Oh, I see how it is," The acrobat sang out in mock hurt, "A new guy arrives and you immediately abandon little ol' me. I'm hurt. I really am. I thought we had something special going on here." The man spun in mid-air, like a skater on ice, quick and graceful, and a chunk of marble flew from one hand, past his own Death Eater's raised shields, to impact the skull of the one Kingsley was dueling.

Kingsley didn't hesitate to return the favor by shooting another spell out. It hit the last standing Death Eater between the shoulder blades, and the man toppled over, immobilized.

For a couple of heart beats both he and the acrobat waited, tense for further attack, but when nothing happened, the stranger straightened from his crouch and flashed Kingsley a grin. It was then that he saw that the other man hadn't been as lucky at dodging spells as he'd initially thought. The left side of his face was unnaturally reddened, as if he'd gotten sunburned on one side, and one bare shoulder was sporting a burn that was beginning to blister. A crusted line of blood edged along his other arm where some sort of slicing curse had nicked him. On top of that, the fingers of one hand were curled in a stiff, frozen manner, tinged with an unhealthy grey.

He frowned, "Did you lose your wand?" He walked forward, motioning to the hand, "I can fix that for you."

The acrobat gave him a once-over then nodded, "I'd appreciate that." He held out the hand and Kingsley quickly cast the spell to remove the curse and returning mobility to the fingers, "Grab one of their wands," He advised, waving at the Death Eaters, but the man just shook his head.

"No thanks, I'm good."

Did that mean that he still had his wand, but just hadn't used it? Or was he one of those picky wizards that didn't like using less compatible wands? "Well, the infirmary is back that way," Kingsley pointed back the direction he'd come from, "They're a bit crowded at the moment, but they can get those burns fixed up."

The man laughed and shook his head, stepping past Kingsley in the wrong direction, "Like I said, I'm good. I'd rather go find a few more of our friends here," With those words he planted a foot on the back of one of the Death Eaters and walked over him as if the downed man wasn't worth even stepping over.

Frowning, Kingsley followed, "You're not from the auror department; are you looking for someone?"

The man shook his head again. "I'm from the States," he answered, not quite addressing the question.

He could have guessed that from the accent.

Well, a foreign Auror was just as good as a local one, Kingsley supposed. Perhaps better since the man was likely completely uninvolved with British politics. He certainly knew how to fight and wasn't hesitating to use it.

Decision made, Kingsley turned his attention back to his mental map of the Ministry. If the American was up for helping defeat some Death Eaters, Kingsley certainly wasn't going to discourage it. "I'm heading towards the Minister's office. There will probably be plenty of the…" He tried to think of a polite word to call the murderers who'd invaded and settled on, "_filth_ for both of us. If you're up for it, I know a short-cut."

"I'm always up for taking out the trash." The man assured him with another flashing grin.

Kingsley returned it, "Name's Shaklebolt, by the way."

"Malone. Nice to meet you."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The Headmaster's portraits chattered back and forth like a gaggle of excited hens. Each dignified in their own way, for their own time, perhaps, but crammed together for a relative eternity with nothing to do but gossip and they'd certainly devolved into something less than desirable for company. Perhaps that was why Harry had rarely heard them speak before. Dumbledore probably had them on strict orders of silence whenever he had company.

So he had to wonder why McGonagall, a woman he's always considered far more orderly and less tolerant of chatter than Dumbledore, was letting them argue to their heart's content. The constant rumble of their gleeful voices – most tossing out unneeded advice – was going to give him a headache soon.

He hadn't intended to end up at Hogwarts, but when he'd firecalled McGonagall to warn her of the attack on the Ministry, she'd invited him through to 'help coordinate information' (which he rather thought was actually code for 'come over where I can keep an eye on you'). Since anything was better than pacing the floors at Grimauld Place, though, he'd agreed and flooed over with Ron quickly following.

The situation had started out in the sort of orderly chaos that he'd half-expected. McGonagall had ordered him to wake the old Headmaster's portraits and appraise them of the situation (a task he'd come to regret), while Ron was told to grab the parchment and quill on the Headmistress' desk and dash off a note to the effect of 'Attack by Death Eaters on Ministry of Magic. Do what you can.' which he'd copied and then rushed off to the owlry for delivery. Harry hadn't caught who the owls were to be sent to though as he'd been distracted by McGonagall summoning her Patronus and commanding it to deliver a message.

It would have been nice if someone had told him that he could use his Prongs patronus like that!

For the next hour they'd been kept surprisingly busy. The Headmaster Portraits, in addition to being loud with their (unwanted) advice, were also apparently how the Hogwarts Headmaster (or Headmistress, as the case may be) kept track of the goings on at the Ministry of Magic. Most of the portraits had canvases somewhere within the Ministry and between what they could spy out for themselves and what their fellow portraits could tell them, they ended up providing a fairly decent overview of what was happening.

It was nothing like actually being there, of course, and Harry's skin nearly crawled with the itch to grab his wand and head off into battle. But Ron's words from before – that it might all be a trap specifically for him - kept his feet firmly planted on the plush carpet.

It was not even close to an ideal situation, but it would have to do for now.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dick followed his companion down the winding ministry halls, perfectly happy to have someone in the lead who might be able to find the center of the Death Eater assault. His method of tracking down the screaming had been working, but it had been getting noticeably emptier the longer he hunted. He had no desire to waste time wandering aimlessly around if he had an alternative.

They'd ducked into one secret passage (complete with concealing tapestry) and passed through a mirror (which Dick really didn't care for since he was pretty sure wherever they'd ended up hadn't been close to where they'd started) and taken down another pair of Death Eaters (Shaklebolt had looked curious at Dick's roundhouse kick, but hadn't asked) before they'd reached a section of hall that looked no different than any other and the wizard waved for him to slow down. Without a word, he obeyed and then mirrored the other man by pressing close to the paneled wall.

There was a door in the panels, nearly invisible and with no noticeable knob or handle. Shaklebolt motioned with his wand, making several circular passes and muttering, then seemed satisfied with the results although Dick could see no discernible difference.

"This leads to the outer room where the secretary guards the Minister of Magic's own office." Shaklebolt informed him quietly, "I've disabled the alerts which let the secretary know someone is coming, but the other side will probably be watched." The man paused and eyed him for a moment before continuing, "Since you seem to favor a more... up close and personal approach, how about I lay down some covering fire and you rush them?"

With different opponents, that would probably be a recipe for failure, but from what Dick had seen, these wizards didn't know how to do anything _but_ fight from a distance. Getting up close so far seemed to shock the Death Eaters and that element of surprise had been the key to taking down each of his opponents. If any of them had thought of doing some sort of broad spectrum spell which affected a large area, he might have been screwed. So far no one had come up with that bright idea though – and he didn't plan to leave anyone standing long enough for them to change their tactics. He was confident enough in his ability to dodge the single-shot spells he'd faced so far to nod his acceptance of Shaklebolt's plan.

He moved passed Shaklebolt to bracket the other side of the door, giving them both a clear shot once the door swung open.

However, rather than swinging open, when Shaklebolt drew some sort of symbol on one of the wooden panels, the door simply vanished, leaving a clear view of the room beyond.

More lavishly decorated than any of the offices Dick had seen so far, this room boasted a thick burgundy carpet with two plush couches and frescos on the ceiling (later he would recall that the feathered figures were moving, dodging misfired spells and hiding behind painted fluffy white clouds). There were four Death Eaters in the room, two concentrating on an unrecognizable stone and bronze contraption set up along the far wall and two which had obviously been set to guard them.

The guarding Death Eaters reacted to their presence immediately, coming to attention and raising their wands, but Shaklebolt, ready for them, shot off the first stunner before either of their opponents could bring their wands to bear and the first Death Eater dropped without uttering a single spell.

The second Death Eater, female, with long silver hair escaping from around her white mask, shot off one of the green bolts of light that the Death Eaters seemed to favor. It was aimed at Shaklebolt, rather than Dick, so he ignored it as he rushed in, low and fast. The woman switched her targets as he crossed the room, first firing off another green bolt which he dodged and then a second spell at the floor in front of him. Dick leaped and still nearly had one foot pierced as long spikes shot up out of the ground. He returned to earth on the far side of the spiky barrier, and continued forward without slowing.

Thanks to another spell by Shaklebolt which the woman was forced to shield against, Dick managed to reach her without further attack. He pulled one of his escrima sticks from his thigh holsters and found that the translucent barrier blocking the incoming spellfire did nothing to halt his momentum. The woman took a step backward, but a single quick blow to the temple and the fight was over before he'd even managed to get his heart rate up.

He turned to the last two Death Eaters, prepared to dodge another barrage of spells, but then realized that they hadn't even appeared to notice his arrival. Both men were without masks, eyes closed and chanting in sync something that sounded vaguely Gaelic.

Shooting a glance at his companion, he saw that Shaklebolt was cautiously making his way towards him, wand at ready and frowning eyes on the strange contraption being chanted over. "Never seen anything like that before," He mused, more to himself than Dick.

He paused and Dick asked, "Can we take out these last two men or do you think whatever they're doing is volatile?" The last thing he wanted was to accidentally kill himself in a magical explosion just because he was a little impatient.

With pursed lips, Shaklebolt replied, "I think we'll have to. Whatever they're doing, I'm pretty sure we won't want them to finish." He hesitated, eyeing Dick, "Can you raise a shield without a wand? I notice that you haven't been using yours, but if you lost it, you could try one of theirs." He waved in the direction of the unconscious Death Eaters. "I can assure you that we've never found anyone cursed by taking one of the wands we've confiscated before, so you don't have to worry about that if you touch one. Those rumors are completely baseless and I think you may need one. Just in case."

Dick simply shook his head, "Can you shield us both?" He glanced around the room then jogged off to the side to heft a pompous looking bust off its pedestal, ignoring its indignant squawking, along with its equally pompous and offended looking matching pair, "I'll hit them with these and you can protect us from any backlash. How does that sound?"

Shaklebolt was frowning dubiously, but gave a slow nod, "I suppose that will work." He glanced again at the oblivious Death Eaters, "How close do you need to be?"

The bust were fairly heavy and too misshapen to be good projectiles, so they ended up closer than Dick would have liked to the 'possibly explosive magical doohickey', but after a bit of prompting, Shaklebolt conjured up a steel barrier in addition to his magical one.

It felt a little like cheating to be hitting defenseless men when they still hadn't noticed them, but Dick didn't let that bother him. With precise movements, he lobbed the busts for the Death Eaters' heads and ducked.

When the world exploded into purple flames, he found himself quite appreciative of both the strength of the steel at his back and the spell guarding their heads. Despite both protections, the flash heat was enough to aggravate his already tender burns.

The magical flames died as abruptly as they'd appeared, leaving behind a bare shell of a room and the smell of burnt fabric.

The strange device and the Death Eaters who'd been manning it were gone, only blackened earth in three separate starred patterns (as if they had each been separate explosive bombs) marked where they and their device had once stood.

Shaklebolt, beside him, sat up and rubbed his chin looking at the same scorched dirt, "Interesting." He paused and his eyebrows drew together as he squinted at the door that must have led into the Minister of Magic's office, "That's-" He cut himself off then stood and moved up to the door.

Dick stood as well, scanning the door for what had caught the auror's attention.

"The wards...I think the wards are down. Do you see them?"

Since Dick hadn't seen any wards before the explosion, he was able to honestly deny seeing them now either.

Shaklebolt extended the hand which wasn't holding his wand out and laid it against the door as if feeling for something.

From his frown, he wasn't finding it.

"I didn't get to be head of the Auror Department for my good looks," A male voice growled from beyond the door and Shaklebolt snatched his hand back as if stung, "If you open that door, you'll be leaving with fewer bodies than you came with."

Dick quirked an eyebrow at the wizard next to him and was met with a burgeoning grin, "Minister Scrimgeour," He called back, "It's Auror Shaklebolt. The Death Eaters who were out here have been subdued. You are safe now."

There might have been a muffled snort in response to that assurance, but with the thick door in the way, it was hard to be sure.

"Shaklebolt, huh? Well you better have some way to prove that because if you open that door you're going to be in a world of hurt unless I disable the runes on it."

Dick found himself grinning at the wry skepticism from the man barricaded beyond the door. At least the magical world didn't have a complete naïve idiot at the political head.

"How about this, sir?" Shaklebolt pointed his wand off to the side and called out '_Expecto Patronum' _and a misty feline seemed to leap out of the end. It bounded in a playful circle around Dick, giving him a good look at the tuffed ears and large paws, before it settled down, alert at Shaklebolt's feet. The man leaned down and whispered in the beast's ear, then stood as it leaped through the door as if it were not there. There were three exclamations of surprise beyond the door, one female, and Dick wondered who else was holed up in the room beyond them.

He didn't have long to wait however as even as the thought crossed his mind, the tall door parted. It didn't move far, just enough to see that the room beyond was as equally lush as the outer office had been before the magical fire decimated it.

"Let me see your wand first." The same voice called again, clearer now that the doorway had been cracked open, "Point at the ceiling. You have three wands on you and if you make any funny moves you won't live to see a trial."

Shaklebolt complied, slowly extending his wand and fist until his arm was completely through the door, then pushing the door to allow the rest of him entrance when there were no orders to halt. "Sir, I came down here to make sure you were secure, but I don't know about how the rest of the ministry is faring."

The door had finally swung wide enough that Dick could see beyond the auror. The office did indeed hold three people. A woman with steel gray hair and a face pinched with stress held a wand extended in a level grip. Next to her, practically behind her, was a younger man with bright red hair and a nearly panicked expression. His wand was also extended, but the tip trembled and his eyes darted across their two rescuers as if expecting them to sprout fangs and pounce on them at any second. The third and final man in the room had to be the Minister of Magic. He was a stout man, dark hair speckled with gray and eyes narrowed in suspicion as he inspected both Shaklebolt and Dick.

Cocking his head, Dick took them in, eyes lingering on the boy for a moment, picking out the similarities around the nose and chin between this wizard and Ron Weasley. The boy was too young to be Ron's father. Brother or cousin perhaps?

"Sir," Shaklebolt continued, "There have been Death Eaters attacking all throughout the Ministry. I believe the Auror department may have been hit hard. We've taken care of the Death Eaters who were just outside, so if you raise the wards again, you should be safe and I'll head over to help with securing the rest of the Ministry."

Apparently deciding that they were on the same side, Minister Scrimgeour finally lowered his wand (although Dick noticed that he didn't holster it and, while the Weasley relative nearly collapsed in relief, the older woman's tense stance didn't so much as flicker). "The portraits," The Minister waved at a handful of blank canvases around the walls, "have been keeping me informed. Moody seems to be organizing the resistance down in the Auror Department and the tide seems to be turning in our favor. They could use the extra wands though."

Shaklebolt nodded and turned, but the Minister's next words halted him, "We can't raise the wards though." His eyes darted to something off to the side and when Dick followed his gaze he saw two small purple crystals laying on a white plate. Or, no, not two crystals, but one which had broken into two pieces. "What happened out there? The wards were holding up without trouble, then they suddenly vanished and the focus ruptured."

Shaklebolt had also followed the Minister's gaze and frowned at the broken crystal, "The Death Eaters had some sort of strange contraption. I've never seen anything like it before. It was made out of stone and bronze and they were chanting over it. We disrupted their spell and it...exploded, I guess. I don't know if the explosion took out your wards or whether we didn't stop whatever they were doing in time and You-Know-Who has discovered some way to collapse wards."

The Minister growled, "Lovely."

Indeed.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

In other circumstances, the variety of the magical plants filling the greenhouse would have given Hermione a full day worth of delightful exploring – she wasn't close to Neville's love of plants, but considering she only recognized perhaps a quarter of the vegetation, this place would have provided quite a wealth of new opportunities to discover new things.

Unfortunately, without access to any herbology books, the plants were more hazardous than exciting. She knew the potted flowers hanging off the branches of the mundane beech tree were fanged geraniums – something that could both injure her or alert the werewolves to her presence if she got too close – and she recognized the tiny shoots springing up around the heads of the unconscious children were harmless fluxweed. But what were the vines curled up in circles near the rowan tree? Were the pink and yellow spotted flowers, still closed in tight buds, decorative or hiding teeth or poisonous pollens? The few werewolves she spotted moving about had been giving a purple patch of lawn a wide birth, but she wasn't sure if it was because of the grass itself or the gourds which shivered in the middle.

Tommy might be convinced that the messages he'd had her send would summon help, but Hermione wasn't so sure and the longer she sat there praying that her scent was hidden in the aromatic fragrances in the air and that she didn't twitch wrong and alert a listening ear...the longer she sat and tried to analyze whether each bush might help or hinder their eventual escape, the less confidence she had that things were going to end well.

She hated waiting.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dick was feeling good as he paid the cab driver and started up the street to Grimauld Place. It had been a productive afternoon. After finding the Minister of Magic safe, he and Shaklebolt had headed down to the Auror Department and arrived to find the last of the attackers fleeing. Shaklebolt had gone up to a man with a peg leg and eyepatch and Dick had stuck around long enough to hear that the Death Eaters were on the run before slipping out himself. There had been casualties – he'd seen several rows of covered bodies as he'd left the Ministry via the Infirmary – but less than there might otherwise have been. And it looked like the Ministry of Magic would recover, stronger and perhaps a bit wiser.

The fresh skin along his bare shoulder felt a bit tight as he stretched in the cooling evening air. The healing spells had removed the burns, but it wasn't back to 100% yet. He hoped that Tim would have thought about making a hearty dinner. The kid usually didn't overlook details like that, but neither of them had exactly known when Dick would return.

He'd nearly reached the house when a shadow detached itself from the neighboring house and Dick instinctively swung around to face it, body tensing. As soon as he recognized the slender Asian girl, he relaxed out of a battle-ready stance, but the tension did not dissipate, it only transferred to between his shoulders instead. "Is there something wrong?" He asked, voice low.

"Yes." Cass answered in her characteristic halting speech. "Tommy in trouble. We fix."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The unexpected crack of apparation made Harry jump and hand fly to his wand.

"Master Harry Potter, sir!" A squeaky voice proclaimed in a tone of delighted excitement, and Harry returned his wand to its holster and smiled at the familiar little elf gazing up at him with adoration.

"Er, hi Dobby." He greeted, "I'm a bit busy at the minute, so I can't really visit right now..."

Dobby's long ears flapped as the house elf nodded vigorously, "Dobby knows! Great Wizard Harry Potter is busy with very important things, but Dobby is wanting to tell Harry Potter, sir, there is a stranger in his house. Someone is coming in and Dobby doesn't know what to do."

For just a second Harry wondered why Dobby would be aware of something like that, before he realized that Dobby had probably seen the Malones – which meant that Hermione was probably back!

His eyes flew to Ron's and saw that the same realization had found his friend. "Thanks Dobby," Harry said absently, already moving to grab a pinch of floo powder, "We'll be right back, Professor McGonagall."

He didn't stay to hear her acknowledgment before stepping through the green flames and stumbling out into a familiar sitting room. He'd barely taken a step forward before Ron stumbled out behind him.

Opening his mouth to call out for Hermione, the clatter of feet on the stairway caught his attention and the older Malone appeared, attention on a strange black multi-pocketed belt he was adjusting around his waist. The man's usual baggy sweatshirt was nowhere to be seen and Harry was somewhat surprised to find that it was hiding an array of lean muscles. Considering the acrobatics he'd observed the man doing several days before, it probably shouldn't have been that surprising, but with the loose clothing, he'd somehow gotten the vague impression that Derek was more...soft and flabby, perhaps. Now he had on a sleeveless, skin-tight shirt in a muted black with fingers of blue flame along the ribs. It didn't look like fabric either – something more like…armour?

"Where's Hermione?" Ron's voice to Harry's right clearly startled Derek as he whipped up his head and his whole body dipped into a coiled crouch.

For a second, the man held that pose, then grimaced and straightened back up, running a hand through his hair. "She...We got separated. Tommy and Hermione were supposed to head right back here, but..." He waved his hand as if brushing that aside and continued, "They ended up in a bit of a tight spot. I was just heading out to get them."

Harry felt his face pinch together in a scowl. "By yourself? Where are they? We'll go with you."

Derek's expression moved through impatience to irritated and resigned before he nodded briefly in acceptance. "Fine. Tommy was able to send out a message. They're somewhere north of Bradford." Derek started moving towards the front door and Harry and Ron automatically followed, "They aren't hurt or anything, but they can't get away without possibly endangering a group of children who have been captured by some werewolves, so -"

"**What**?!"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Hermione absently noted that the blond werewolf was back. This one, young enough that he should have probably still been in school, with his narrow build and flannel shirt, had been making regular appearances, muttering something indistinct to the two men who continued to stand over the children, and then vanishing back to wherever he'd come from. This would be his sixth appearance and, although she couldn't cast the _Tempus_ spell to check the time, Hermione suspected he'd been popping up every half hour or forty-five minutes. So she and Tommy had been sitting around waiting for a rescue for at least three hours.

A glance at the boy confirmed that he remained motionless. She'd wondered, back when they'd first decided to wait for help, whether she ought to stun the boy so he wouldn't have to force himself to lay so still under the watchful eye of their guards. It seemed almost cruel to leave him unable to so much as shift position without giving them away. But he'd held up remarkably well. She hadn't caught so much as a twitch from the kid and none of the various werewolves had given the boy a second glance.

Her stomach gave a twinge warning her that supper should be coming along soon and the backside of her robe was uncomfortably damp from sitting on the moist earth. She was beginning to have serious doubts that anyone would be coming for them. She had spent the time planning, inadequate though the task seemed. No matter how she considered her options, she didn't see any way that she could protect Tommy and all the children if the werewolves attacked. Her single wand wouldn't be able to hold off more than a couple of the men roaming around the greenhouse. She hadn't seen all of them brandish wands, but even if only a quarter of them had them, that would overwhelm any shielding she could throw up. And that didn't even consider that they were likely to change into magically-resistant beasts sometime in the next few hours.

And that was something she'd been trying very desperately not to think of. She'd had an encounter with a werewolf before and while she didn't fear Professor Lupin most of the month, she had no desire to meet him on a full moon ever again. There was still plenty of daylight, but at this time of year, moonrise would probably occur while the sun was still up. She had no way of knowing how much longer they had.

A shiver crept over her despite the warm air and she glanced again over the row of children. She had only come up with two reasons that the werewolves would have wanted a group of unconscious children around on the night of a full moon – to turn them, or to kill them. It was a sickening thought - that anyone would deliberately hurt a bunch of helpless children.

But she still only had one wand and not matter which permutations she ran through her mind, she couldn't envision a scenario where the outcome of a fight between her and their captors guaranteed everyone came out alive and in one piece.

So she waited.

"I'm here!"

She, along with the three werewolves in the clearing, froze.

What? Dear Merlin, what was-

"I'm here!"

She sucked in her breath in a harsh gasp. The voice, high-pitched and chipper, seemed to be coming from directly beside her. She whipped her head from side to side, but there was nothing.

"I'm here!"

Two of the werewolves were slowly moving in her direction, one with his nose in the air, nostrils flared as he took gulping breaths of air, the other with narrowed eyes sweeping over the area.

Hermione scrambled to her feet as the voice sounded off once again and to her horror, finally realized that the noise was coming from her bag.

Another werewolf appeared, emerging from the vegetation beyond the children.

She wrenched the satchel off, and cast a silencing spell on it, knowing that it was too late.

Yet another werewolf appeared all of them with eyes glued to the tree she'd been leaning against.

Her hand tightened on her wand and her resolve hardened. She might not survive this fight, but by Gryffindor, she was going to take some of these bastards with her!

**End Chapter.**

A/N: Thanks for reading everyone! I make no promises on the speed of the next chapter's release (but I will try to get it out sooner rather than later).

If anyone is curious, as a background note, Dick had armor on under his grungy clothes, but it wasn't quite his Nightwing outfit. I'm of the opinion that if Dick was going to go undercover (especially with his face in plain view), he wouldn't be so obvious as to take along recognizable costumes. But, since they were heading into potential danger, he wasn't going to go anywhere unprotected either. So he's wearing a black (and a bit of blue because he's not Batman!), sleeveless piece of bodyarmor that covers his torso. And a belt with all sorts of goodies too, of course.

Um, also, I think I should mention, in case anyone was wondering (since I don't think I made it clear), Voldemort himself never showed up at the Ministry… he's the kind of guy to send his lackeys first and only come in after they've done all the dirty work…which they rather failed at doing this time… :-)


	15. Greenhouse Tangles

**Chapter 15 – Greenhouse Tangles**

**A/N: A thousand apologies for the length of time it took to get this out! Seriously, I am very sorry. Hopefully the next one will be up sooner?**

**Reminder: Dick's alias is 'Derek' and Tim's is 'Tommy'. **

"Hermione has been captured by _werewolves_?!" Ron's screech of outrage would have garnered a chastising look from the aforementioned witch, had she been there. As it was, Harry was in full agreement with the outrage. He hadn't expected the Malones (especially not the younger one) to protect their friend at the Ministry, but he hadn't expected them to _lose_ her either.

"She hasn't been captured," Derek explained, tone one of exaggerated patience - which Harry felt was definitely uncalled for, "She and my brother are simply currently waiting _next to_ a group of children who were captured. No one is in any immediate danger, but they need help getting the children away." He turned back and opened the front door, which he'd been reaching for when Ron's shout had interrupted him.

Harry tamped down his desire to maim something to a manageable level as he followed the man out the door, "How do you know – who is that?"

Derek had quickly bounded down the front steps and out onto the walk outside only to stop in front of a slender woman with dark hair and exotic eyes. The girl, perhaps around Harry's own age, zeroed in on Derek the moment he crossed the invisible line dividing Grimauld Place's property and the rest of London. She didn't appear to notice Harry or Ron, still safely within the protections around the house, but she did try to follow Derek's eyes as he turned back to them, "This is Clara. Clara Kane. When Tommy couldn't get me to answer my phone, he called her instead."

Harry felt his teeth start to grind. This was the second person (at least!) to whom the Malones had given the location of Grimauld Place. First it had been on the phone to a librarian (and he was starting to have serious doubts about that explanation), and now to this other girl. The man apparently couldn't keep a secret unless he was both _obliviated_ and under magical contract first!

"Uh, aren't you guys from the States? How did she get here?" Ron's sounded more confused than curious, but that was a good point too.

"Who comes? We take?" The girl's voice was halting and stilted, as if English wasn't her native language and Derek turned back to her, ignoring Ron's questions.

"Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. And yes, we will be taking them with us." Her unfocused eyes swept past them again and Harry clenched a fist around the wand he didn't remember drawing. He took a deep breath, held it, then let it out in a frustrated sigh. If Hermione hadn't been in trouble, he would have probably stunned the stupid muggle out of sheer frustration. As it was, he couldn't waste time with this nonsense.

Stepping out beyond the property line, he allowed Clara to see him. She gave him a sweeping look, eyes lingering on his wand, then gave Derek an amused look. "Angry," She stated.

"I'm sure they are." came Derek's dry response. "However, I also think they want to get their friend back sooner rather than later, so let's shelve this discussion until then." The last was directed at Harry, one eyebrow raised in a wry query, obviously asking if Harry would be willing to wait before interrogating him about his newest friend.

He grimaced, but with a short nod, he agreed, "Now where exactly is Hermione?

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

There were now eight werewolves that Hermione could see, scattered, but all focused on the invisible spot where she stood. None of them had spoken or even cast a spell in her direction. Yet. But two were approaching her position now in a cautious lope and she probably had at most a handful of seconds before she lost the element of surprise.

She may have had plenty of time to think about what she'd do if it came down to a fight, but now, when every spell counted, she could only hope she'd planned out the smartest course of action. With a whispered charm, she shot off her first spell, past all the werewolves, and right into the patch of purple grass. The tickling charm splashed against the side of one of the trembling melons resting there. The results were instantaneous and as spectacular as she could have wished. The melon contracted, like a rubber ball suddenly emptied of air, and the whole greenhouse was filled with the agonized sounds of a banshee in heat. It was a wall of sound and the werewolves, with their sensitive hearing, staggered from it, hands desperately covering their ears.

Hermione, who had guessed (hoped) that the gourds had been in the Mandrake family, took off as soon as the first shriek was heard. Still invisible, and with the werewolves distracted, she calculated that no one would notice the grass bending under her feet or the swish of her cloak as she ducked around a neatly maintained grove of bamboo.

One hand dove into her satchel and she brought out only weapon besides her wand that she'd carried into the Ministry. A whispered _Gemini_ over it and she then had two. Then four, then eight...

A quick glance around and she made another headlong dash across a path so that she was now to the western edge of the clearing that the children were laid out in. It had taken her less than a minute to cover that short bit of ground, but in that time, one of the werewolves brandishing a wand finally managed to cast his own spell, silencing the horrific noise and bringing brought blessed relief to her ears.

The young blond werewolf she'd noticed before began to speak, "We're under atta-!'

Hermione lobbed her 'weapon' like a grenade. One man saw it and raised a translucent shield – a second man, one without a wand, dove behind a nearby tree – but neither defense was effective as the dungbomb went off and the area became blanketed in the most horrific stench imaginable. The werewolf closest to the bomb actually doubled over, vomiting, and the other men dotting the clearing also began to retch.

Despite her clammy hands, Hermione felt a momentary surge of triumph. She might not be the powerhouse of magic that Harry was or the strategist like Ron, but that didn't mean she was completely useless in a fight.

Her eyes swept across the clearing. The Tanglewort on the south side ought to – wait. Her eyes went back to the rows of children, inspecting the line, her heart in her throat.

Where was Tommy?

She did another visual pass over the lined up bodies, but she hadn't just overlooked him – the spot, third from the end, where he had been lying for the past several hours was empty and the boy was nowhere to be seen.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Cass whipped out her phone, "Tommy here," she stated, angling the screen so that both Dick and Harry could see the map on its display. A convenient little yellow arrow pointed to a spot in the middle of a green patch labeled 'Yorkshire Dales National Park'.

Harry was frowning down at the phone, brows drawn together in concentration and Dick had to wonder if the teen had had enough exposure to maps in his wizard school to be able to even interpret what he was seeing.

"That says they're in a park, right?" Ron asked, peering over Harry's shoulder, "I bet that's part of the magical section of England then. Most of our areas are designated as parks or historical landmarks to keep the muggles from building houses there. Hold on." He turned and vanished back into the house.

Dick glanced at Cass. A magical area set to repel muggles could be a problem. "Harry, do you have another one of those strings Hermione gave Tommy and me? You know, those things that helped us so we wouldn't have problems getting into magical locations?"

Returning his attention from the front door of the house, Harry gave him an abstracted frown, "What? Oh, no, she just made those right then. Why?" Then he seemed to catch on as he darted a look at Cass, "No. She's _not_ coming with us." He folded his arms and set his chin, looking Dick in the eye. "We're not taking anyone else into the middle of a pack of kidnapping werewolves on the night of a full moon." Perhaps seeing the objection forming in Dick's eyes, he continued, "We'll take you along, but only because Tommy is there and he'll probably need you after going through something frightening like this." As an after-thought, he included, "And you seem to have a knack for dodging spells so we shouldn't have to work too hard to keep you safe. But we're not taking anyone else." The final statement was emphatic and he nodded his head as if to punctuate it.

Okay, being undercover and underestimated was all well and good, but in times like these, Dick really could wish that Harry had figured out that he was more than just the average 'muggle'. In fact, he was _this_ close to telling the kid that he'd bet an entire truck full of diamonds that Cass could have him disarmed and unconscious before he could tag her with a single spell. A glance at the girl in question and he saw that she looked more amused than offended. "Clara can take care of herself. You won't have to keep track of her."

Harry scoffed and Dick ran his fingers through his hair, "Harry, we don't need _you_ to go after Tommy and Hermione." He flicked his fingers at Cass and she turned off her phone and it disappeared into a pocket. "It'd be faster to go with you, since you guys could teleport us there, but we're going whether we have your permission or not. The real question is whether you're going to help us or get in the way." He paused, then added, "Don't forget, you were the one originally coming to me looking for help, not the other way around."

The scowl on Harry's face was matched by the way his knuckles whitened on his wand, but he didn't make any move to attack them and Dick considered that progress. One of these days – soon - though, they'd really have to work on Harry's trust issues.

Dick considered whether it was worth it to continue arguing the point or not. It was true that getting Harry to apparate the two of them across the country would be faster than trying to connect up with the JLA teleporter or contacting a speedster to carry them. Wally wouldn't mind, but Dick didn't like to impose too often that way (nor did he really care for the undignified carrying, but sometimes need outweighed pride). On the other hand, Cass would have mentioned if Tim was calling for urgent back-up so they probably had time to grab the jet Cass most likely arrived in. Without the two wizards around to keep track of, it might be possible to turn the extraction into a stealth operation instead of a fight.

"Here!" Ron called to them as he clattered down the front steps and out onto the walk, "I found it." 'It' was apparently a large red book, held open to a map of northern England. The pages smelled musty and the script was obviously hand written. Ron's finger rested on the same area that Cass' phone had mapped out, but instead of a green blob depicting a park, it was a mass of roads and divided estates. "Neville lives up this way, I think." He looked over at Cass, "Where exactly around here did your, uh, your machine..." He pronounced the word as if doubtful that he'd picked the right one, "Where did it show that Hermione is at?"

Cass cocked her head, ponytail swinging to the side as she eyed him. Then she carefully examined Harry, arms still crossed and a stubborn expression on his face, before turning to Dick, one eyebrow raised in question. He pursed his lips. If Harry didn't relent and get Cass a magical 'bracelet' allowing her to see some of the hidden magical-spaces, there was a good chance she would be severely handicapped in a fight – assuming she could even get into the location in the first place. That was a deciding factor in favor of continuing to try to change Harry's mind. They could probably try to contact Jason Blood or Zatana, but that would take time they couldn't necessarily afford. In addition, Harry and Ron were also going to be flying to the rescue whether Dick and Cass gave them more precise directions or not, and Dick would rather that the two wizards didn't fumble around and stumble into a mess on accident. Seeing Dick's decision in his expression before he had time to nod, Cass again pulled out her phone and zoomed into to the indicated area.

Ron peered at it, then at the paper map, looking back and forth a couple of times, "I think it's probably here." His finger indicated one of the larger properties.

Frowning down at the paper, Harry suddenly asked, "That's not the Malfoy estate, is it?"

Looking startled, Ron shook his head, "No." He looked down at his finger again, "Well, I don't think so. It doesn't say who owns the land here, but this isn't where their main manor is, so it's probably someone else's land."

Harry nodded and Ron shut the book, "Okay," the red-head continued, "well, let's get you two outfitted with something you can use to defend yourself with." He then turned back to the house while Harry and Dick blinked at him.

"Wait!" Harry called, "What are you doing? We're not taking her."

Ron twisted around and now it was his turn to blink. "We're not?"

"No! She's-" He cut himself off then tried again, "Why did you think we'd take her?"

Ron's expression turned awkward and a flush started to creep up his neck, "Well, I mean, Tommy called her. And she came. And if it was Hermione and she'd called me..."

Dick quickly stifled the urge to snicker. Ron had apparently come to the conclusion that Tim and Cass were a bit more than 'just friends'. In other circumstances, he might have corrected the mistake, but considering Harry was now sending doubtful looks between Cass and Ron...

Cass, following the general flow of conversation, if not the details, added her own touch by widening her eyes and giving Harry a pleading look. Dick thought the expression didn't improve the odds that Harry would think she could handle herself in a fight, but as usual, it appeared that Cass had judged the body language correctly. With a huff, Harry finally dropped his arms and looked away.

That was the second time Harry had given in to an argument due to a relational aspect – the first being when Dick had argued for the inclusion of Tim into their little group. Dick mentally filed that bit of the teen's psychological profile away for later.

Unwilling to let the victory settle, Dick said, "We'll need another one of those strings."

"And you'll need silver!" Ron called, continuing back into the house.

Right. Silver would probably be an effective weapon against werewolves, but he hadn't expected to encounter this situation, so they hadn't packed silver knives. However, if Ron was willing to loan them a few, he wouldn't complain.

With better grace than Dick might have expected, Harry turned to Cass and muttered, "The address is number Twelve Grimauld Place."

Cass gave a tiny exclamation of delight as she was finally able to see the house.

"Come on. Let's get you set up." With a wave, Harry invited Cass to follow him up into the gloomy house.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Tim silently cackled as he strung up another unsuspecting werewolf by his ankles then quickly gassed the man into unconsciousness.

Hardly anyone ever looked up. He always found it amusing in Gotham back alleys. In a town where the criminals ought to expect vengeance from above, the crooks still rarely bothered to check the roof lines. Here, despite the evening light filtering through the glass and floating balls of (presumably magic) light scattered around the greenhouse giving him few shadows to hide in, Tim still managed to take the men below him by total surprise. Perhaps they simply hadn't figured out that they were being hunted at the same time as they tried to organize themselves into a hunt for their invisible quarry below.

There had been lots of shouting and more of those stink bombs than Tim cared to think about, along with flashes of multi-colored spells darting about beneath him, but Hermione seemed to be holding her own. There'd been no triumphant shouting from anyone catching her at any rate.

The witch seemed to be using the strange plants to her advantage too. Tim had kept well clear of anything he couldn't identify – especially after he'd watched one tree 'swallow' a screaming werewolf into its trunk. The man had been rescued by one of his fellows, but it seemed to have been a near thing.

He left his most recent victim and darted silently along the catwalk in search of the next. He spotted a likely pair without much difficulty and moved into position.

The two men crept through the vegetation below him, keeping close together and peering through leaves with each step forward. They each held wands at ready, but neither man looked up to see the blue eyes tracking them.

Keeping completely still, Tim waited, a silent statue above them.

The one on the left, the bulkier of the two had his fists clenched and held himself low to the ground as if prepared to rush in swinging at the first hint of their elusive quarry. The second walked a bit behind the first, head continuously twisting as if he were trying to look in every direction at once.

Except up, of course.

Tim didn't need to look at his fingers as they readied the grapple gun in one hand and the darts laced with a strong sleeping agent in the other. He let the pair wander closer, until they were almost directly beneath the catwalk he crouched on, then let the darts fly.

His aim was true and both men slapped the backs of their necks as the tiny darts pricked the skin. The smaller man dropped nearly instantly. The bulkier man had enough time to grunt out a confused question as his fingers found the weapon before he followed his companion down to take a dirt nap.

Tim grinned and hopped down. At this rate he'd have the greenhouse cleared in no time! A quick lasso around both men's ankles and another quick hoist with his grappler and they joined their friends in decorating the underside of the catwalks. He kind of felt like he was stringing up large Christmas ornaments.

Satisfied with his latest catch, he went back to scanning the vegetation for his next target. There were purple fireworks off to the east, near the exit to the greenhouse and one of the taller trees further south was whipping its branches around as if swatting at flies, but otherwise -

A grunting noise nearby caught his attention and Tim automatically turned towards the sound. For a second he didn't register what he was seeing, but then his heart dropped and he took a step backwards.

The men he'd strung up were writhing in their bonds, eyes still tightly shut, but faces twisted in pain. As if in some sort of sick dance, each of them jerked and convulsed and as he watched, limbs lengthened and hair – no, not hair, _fur_ – sprouted along exposed skin. Clothing split and for two of them, the pressures re-forming their bodies snapped the cords around their feet and they plummeted head-first to the ground. Tim had no idea whether they survived the fall and, as one yellowed eyeball flared open, pupils dilated, he realized he wasn't going to be able to spare the time to check.

Tim jumped further back along the catwalk away from his no-longer unconscious 'captives'.

He flicked his gaze toward the windows beyond the foliage in the greenhouse. He couldn't see outside the opaque glass, but he didn't have to see to know what had happened. The moon had risen. He hadn't had the opportunity to check when moonrise was going to start earlier, but he'd hoped they'd have more time.

The air started to vibrate as dozens of throats started to emit low, harsh growls and the hair at the back of Tim's neck stood up on end in response.

He turned to glance at the row of children still resting unaware and undisturbed in the center clearing.

His stomach knotted, all humor from earlier gone.

This was going to be a serious problem.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Ron silently passed a handful of forks and butter knives over to Clara and Derek. They examined the silverware curiously, but didn't ask what they were supposed to do with it, just started packing the pieces away into pockets Ron hadn't noticed their clothes had.

He had to admit that he was somewhat concerned for their muggles – he really ought to be encouraging Harry to leave them behind. They were more likely to get themselves killed on this trip than anything, even with the silver at hand. And, in fact, Ron did feel a twisting wave of guilt. He hadn't been lying to Harry about the fact that he thought Derek and Clara deserved a chance to help Tommy...but he was also aware that just because they felt the need to help didn't mean that they'd be _able_ to help. In fact, they would probably make the whole situation more difficult.

He rubbed his forehead and silently sighed. Harry had probably been right. He knew it then and he knew it now.

There's been a second though, when he'd first realized that the strange girl might go with them, when he'd seen the advantage. Another body present to distract the werewolves from Hermione. It was a horrible thought – something that should only even cross the mind of a Death Eater! But he couldn't deny (at least to himself) that it had crossed his mind that the more people were distracting the werewolves, the fewer of them would be left to focus on Hermione. The calculating thought left him feeling cold and full of self-disgust. Was he really the kind of person who would try to sacrifice one innocent person in the hope that it might help a friend?

It had probably been that unpleasant self-realization that had prompted him to push for Clara's inclusion – an immediate backlash against the idea that he would be that kind of man. Sort of like he was proving to himself that he would NOT turn into the kind of person who tossed an innocent bystander to the 'wolves' just because it was easier. But now he found himself doubting the wisdom of that choice. Was it really right to put the girl in danger just to prove that he wasn't deliberately putting her in danger? That seemed a bit convoluted. And not exactly in her best interests.

"You said that Neville lives close to this?" Harry asked, breaking into Ron's increasingly dark thoughts.

"Yeah," he agreed, looking over at his best friend who was frowning down at the open map on the table.

"Well then we might have to floo to his house first."

Ron grimaced and realized he'd been so preoccupied with his self-analysis that he'd forgotten to focus on their logistics.

"Why can't you teleport?" Derek asked, demonstrating again how ignorant the muggles were about magic.

Harry answered "We can't apparate to a location just based on a map. We need to be able to visualize a location. We would need to have been there before. But I don't think Neville will mind if we pop by his place and from there we can take brooms." His last words were tossed over the shoulder as he jogged out of the sitting room, presumably to grab a couple of brooms.

The silence in Harry's wake seemed unusually uncomfortable to Ron. Or that might have just been his conscious bothering him. He shifted on his feet, avoiding eye contact with either of the muggles before blurting out, "Maybe you should stay here." There was another silence, but Ron didn't look over to see what expressions the other two had before he continued, "Harry and I will get your – get Tommy back. You'd be safer here."

A solid hand fell on his shoulder and it startled him into looking up into warm blue eyes, "Thanks, Ron." Derek said, "I know you just want to keep us safe, but Clara and I _want_ to go with you. We'd rather take our chances with the werewolves than sit on our hands here." And, as if to mirror Ron's earlier thoughts, Derek continued, "If our presence there keeps one of those children safe, even if we get mauled, it would be worth it." Behind him, Clara was nodding, face determined and fierce.

"We help," she added, nodding.

Harry's return kept him from saying anything further. Not that he knew what he might have said anyway. Still, as Harry silently passed him a shrunk broom and he pocketed it, Ron did find that he felt a tiny bit better about the situation.

He would take the girl along because it was her right to try to help and he would make sure that she was safe the entire time.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

From the very first pained twitch of her closest hunter, Hermione realized that her time to play hide-and-seek had run out. She'd only incapacitated four. Two perhaps permanently, the other two would probably wake in the middle of their transformation. The handful more that she's slowed with injuries would recover to full strength once they were mindless wolves.

As the first werewolf fell to his knees, teeth clenched, and wails of agony started to fill the greenhouse, Hermione abandoned stealth and leapt up, dashing along the path back to the center clearing filled with the unconscious children.

Her eyes swept around the clearing, somehow hoping that Tommy had re-appeared while she'd been otherwise engaged, but the conspicuous gap near the end of the row remained – and she didn't have time to try to find him. Even as she started to chant, the howls of pain were dying into snarls of rage.

The words tumbled over her lips, repeating the simple spell over and over as she forced herself to walk in a slow, measured pace around the children, her want pointed at the ground and leaving a blackened stripe in her wake. She had had time to plan, crouched in the foliage, knowing that she wouldn't be able to take out all the werewolves before they transformed. She'd had time to scroll through her mental index of spells to find a ward that might hold against the assault of a pack of maddened magical beasts. She'd researched the topic forth year when after Harry had faced down a dragon, but this was the first time she'd ever actually tried to make the wards she read about. It took time to prepare – she had to lay out the circle with fire before the ward would hold – but it was designed specifically to cage the fiercest magical beasts, so it would probably keep the werewolves out just as well as it would keep a dragon inside. It was a good thing that there probably wouldn't be anyone around to cast spells at her since the ward would do nothing to block _that _kind of assault. She just hoped that she would be able to hold the spell up for hours on end. She might be good at knowing the spells, but she wasn't confident of her ability to maintain a magic channel for an extended period.

With a deep breath, she closed the circle, stepped inside, and began the next phase of the spell. Immediately she felt something like a tickle across her shoulders, as if someone had laid a light rope across them. It got heavier as the ward grew, wrapping itself up and around the children and herself. She closed her eyes and concentrated on seeing the page of the book and the tangled web of Latin syllables, pronouncing each one carefully.

She had no sooner finished, the wards now the weight of perhaps a text book resting along her shoulders, when that weight suddenly increased ten-fold, as if one of the first-years had decided to use her as a springboard, landing on her shoulders then bouncing off.

She staggered, eyes flying open, and took an involuntary step backwards, arms flung wide and pinwheeling in an effort to not trip and fall over the nearest child.

Directly before her, not more than a foot from her nose, was a massive set of fangs set in a snout drawn back into a snarl. Even as she watched, mind blank for once with startled shock, that snout drew back and the fiercely muscled werewolf flung itself against the ward once more, again making Hermione feel the pressure across her shoulders increase again press down with unexpected weight.

The wolf bounced back and howled in rage, nearly deafening in such close proximity, and then Hermione felt another sharp thrust against the wards and turned her head to see another wolf as it was repelled, claws held out before it as though to rip down the barrier, but those four-inch nails just skittered along the air without finding purchase.

Her heart pounding, Hermione took another deep breath and reassured herself that she was safe. The ward would hold and the nightmarish monsters wouldn't be able to reach her.

Another wolf lunged forward, it's body the size of a pony - a pony on steroids and possibly related to a pit bull – saliva dripping from the open jaws. It crashed headlong into the wards, then staggered back in a momentary daze, but before she could appreciate the ward's strength, a forth attack from behind her struck and Hermione felt her back bowing under the weight of the near-simultaneous onslaughts.

She gritted her teeth and told herself to be thankful that the werewolves were not likely to be self-aware enough to ever figure out that coordinating their attacks would probably get them the prize they were after.

Somewhere else in the garden another wolf howled while the first wolf made another lunge battering itself in mindless fury against the strength of Hermione's will. She finally allowed herself to sink down to her knees, closed her eyes again to the hateful eyes, the deadly teeth, the matted fur. She closed her eyes and prepared to wait out the night. And, as she'd been doing since she'd looked at the blank space where the third-to-last child should have lain, she refused to think about what might have happened to any young boy caught outside her wards.

01010101010

A/N: I send you all truckloads of apologies for how long it took to post this chapter. I simply didn't like it (I was planning to do a werewolf battle and it got postponed a whole chapter! Maybe two! Ugh!) But with helpful nagging of my Beta, and due to lovely reviews from readers asking about this chapter, I finally got it done.

As a side note, this is near the end of the line for Ron and Harry (and, to a lesser extent, Hermione), treating their muggles as less capable people. So, for anyone tired of seeing the Bats underestimated and misjudged, they are soon to be proving that they know something about fighting :-) Dick and Tim won't be too thrilled with that development. They _wanted_ to be underestimated (well, most of the time), but protecting children is a higher priority than their cover story, so...


End file.
